Finding Quark: The Perfect Boat for Us & Bringing Her Home. Texas -> Florida | Part 2

The Gulf Coast Journey Continues - Port Arthur -> Berwick Lock

With Lake Sabine marking the official start of Louisiana, I was ready to tackle the next leg of my journey home on Quark, my Bristol 29. Each mile took me deeper into Louisiana’s vast marshlands and coastal waterways, a landscape of endless sawgrass, meandering canals, and commercial barges that were both fascinating and challenging to navigate. Here’s a look back at the memorable spots, moments, and occasional mishaps of this unforgettable stretch.

Lake Sabine to the Calcasieu River – Finding My Rhythm

Officially crossing into Louisiana at Lake Sabine felt like reaching a new chapter, with the landscape changing from Texas's coastal waters to Louisiana's intricate marshes and industrial waterways. At 288.9 West of Harvey Lock (WHL), we passed under the West Port Arthur Bridge, where I decided to drop anchor near the south shoreline just inside the bridge. This anchorage spot was calm, with little boat traffic, but what we didn’t anticipate was the surprise wake-up: the next morning, we were greeted by the hum of a crop duster flying just above Quark! Despite the early alarm, the place had a certain charm. The oil refinery nearby illuminated the night sky, casting an industrial glow over the water. Belle and I ended up staying here for two nights, appreciating the unusual ambiance before setting out again.

From there, we continued north-eastward across Lake Sabine toward Shell Island, anchored at 271 WHL. This spot, behind a small sand island just off the ICW, was remote yet secure, though the mosquitoes were fierce. Belle and I endured the bites and relished the opportunity to watch some college football, taking advantage of the renewed cell service. Resetting the anchor a few times due to the strong currents, we finally got a firm hold in the muddy bottom, allowing us a peaceful evening.

We soon tackled our first lock: the Calcasieu Locks at 219 WHL. This was a new experience for me, and admittedly, one I was stressing over a bit. About a mile out from the lock, I radioed the operator, announcing Quark’s name and intentions. The operator asked if I’d be comfortable holding without tying off behind a barge, and soon we were pulling straight in. After a few minutes, the barge departed, and after his prop wash cleared, we followed suit. To my surprise, the barge, noticing our faster cruising speed, waited for us outside the lock, letting us pass.

Not long after the lock, however, we encountered a challenge at a nearby pontoon bridge. The entrance was clogged with vegetation, which wrapped around Quark's running gear, and we couldn’t make headway against the bridge’s current. The barge captain who had just let us pass noticed our struggle and radioed to suggest we fall back and wait. He proceeded through, dropped his load, and then graciously came back to tow us through. They let us remain tied to their rig for a few miles and even invited us to stay with them overnight. As night fell, I was treated to a fresh hamburger off their grill—a kindness that was much appreciated.

The next morning, a thick fog rolled in, grounding all movement, so they stood watch as I donned my gear, dove into the alligator-infested waters, and cut away the vegetation from Quark’s running gear. By then, we’d reached 225 WHL, and once the fog lifted, we untied and continued east toward the Creole Bridge, about 219 WHL, ready for the next stretch.

Navigating the Atchafalaya Basin – Challenges and Serenity

Continuing east, the Atchafalaya Basin loomed large on the horizon, promising both unique beauty and formidable challenges. This stretch required more radio communication than I’d anticipated; my air traffic control background once again proved invaluable as I coordinated with tugboats and barges sharing the water. Although the Atchafalaya’s dense maze of channels was a navigational workout, I couldn’t help but be captivated by the sights: bald cypress trees rising out of murky waters, Spanish moss hanging in thick curtains, and the occasional alligator sunning on the banks.

During this stretch of wilderness, I had the thrill of spotting my first Pink Roseate Spoonbill—a vibrant pop of color among the greens and browns of the swamp. To my delight, I ended up seeing several as we motored through. These rare sightings were a welcome distraction from the tough navigation, as this part of the route was often blanketed with vegetation that made it difficult to distinguish the channel. At times, it felt like I was steering blind, relying on instinct and the few visible markers to find my way through the thick, plant-covered waters.

After a long day of motoring, we finally dropped anchor on the north side of Grand Lake, eager for some rest. The next morning, I was greeted by a local family out in a mud boat, checking their traps. Two young boys onboard were wide-eyed with curiosity, full of questions about Quark and how a sailboat had ended up in their waters. Their excitement and wonder added a lighthearted note to the morning, a reminder of how this journey was just as novel to others as it was to me.

Fuel was becoming a concern as I’d been motoring most of the ICW, carrying only a 13-gallon tank and 20 gallons of fuel in cans on deck. I was down to my last few gallons with the next fuel stop at Shell Morgan in Intracoastal City, still some distance away. I realized I wouldn’t make it before they closed, so after passing through the Leland-Bowman Locks at 162 WHL, I called ahead and asked if I could dock for the night and fuel up in the morning. The older gentleman who answered was more than happy to oblige. We arrived just after sunset, and it felt strange to tie Quark to land after so long at anchor. I secured the boat, took Belle for a walk on solid ground, and let her stretch her legs—a rare treat on this journey.

The next morning, I took one of my favorite photos of Quark as she sat peacefully docked in the early light. At 7:30, I moved her over to the fuel dock, where I was greeted by the elderly man and his grandson, both curious and warm, full of questions about my journey and my boat. While paying for the fuel, I spotted a dusty wine bottle with duct tape that read “Musk.” I asked if it was for sale, and the old man told me to take it, saying I might need the company on my solo journey.

Our next destination was Morgan City, where a city dock offered power, water, and the promise of a place to recharge. We made our way there, passing the Cote Blanche Cable Ferry, with about 35 miles to go. As night fell, I’ll never forget the sight of the “High Lines” ahead, two bridges spanning the water: a railroad bridge that lifted just for us, and a towering interstate bridge. The bridge operator’s kindness in lifting the railroad bridge for Belle, Quark, and me was a humbling and powerful experience, reminding me of the rarity of a lone sailboat venturing through these waters.

We found the city dock nestled between the two bridges and settled in for a few days. With shrimp boats selling fresh catch right off the dock and a small town just across the levee, it was an ideal spot for provisioning and exploring. The local hardware store was stocked with marine supplies, and I found nearly everything I needed. After three nights, we motored a short distance north to top off on fuel once more, and, as expected, fielded questions about my solo journey on a sailboat.

From there, the Berwick Lock was our next checkpoint, only 2.2 miles away. With low water, the lock was open, allowing us to motor straight through, and we continued our journey now at 96 WHL, moving ever closer to our next destination.

Looking Ahead

With Morgan City behind us, the journey still stretches onward, with more locks, bridges, and new landscapes awaiting. The next leg will take us further into Louisiana’s backwaters and along the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway, testing Quark and my abilities against currents, weather, and the ever-present vegetation. Stay tuned as Belle and I navigate the remaining miles back to Pensacola, discovering hidden gems and unexpected encounters along the way.