Off to Port Mansfield

My objective for the first day was to make it to Corpus Christi, about 150 miles away.  I figured at 30 mph, I would be there just after noon.  Unfortunately,  the wind picked up as I approached Port Mansfield.  I decided to stay the night there, about halfway to Corpus Christi.  I had been watching the weather for weeks and I thought I had planned it perfect as the trip started out with the water almost glass-like.  That is Brownsville on the right and South Padre Island on the left as I leave.

As I moved North, the path was marked by buoys, some floating and some, maybe most, mounted on wooden posts. You keep the green ones to the right and the red ones to the left as you move away from a port.

                                 

I was surprised at how well the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) was marked. In general, I didn’t need my GPS. You could see the buoys miles ahead of you. As the wind picked up and the seas became rough, they were like friends rooting me on.

Between Brownsville and Port Mansfield, I came upon a land cut with a row of fishing houses on stilts in the middle of nowhere. Some had occupants that waved as I passed. Most were empty and many had seen one too may storm.  I am not sure I would sleep too well if a thunderstorm were to whip up while I was in one of these.

About two hours (60 miles) North of Brownsville I arrived at the fishing village of Port Mansfield. Very small, very desolate with very resolute fishermen.

                                      

Here, the green buoys are on the left. The rule is “red right return” when you are entering a port.

Below is a neat row of decked out fishing villas just inside the port entrance.

                                       

I ran into a developer and his brother from Lakewood in Dallas. They owned two houses on the water and were on vacation with their families. They were very curious about my trip. Everywhere I went people wanted to know “why” I was doing this and why I was doing this “in that”. One of the brothers said that Port Mansfield was a fishing village with a drinking problem and of course the other said it was a drinking village with a fishing problem. To back it up, one of the few restaurants in town had a blue marlin on its menu coming out of the water like a bucking bronco with a skeleton strapped to its back and the words underneath that read “Rehab is for quitters!”

                                               

The forecast was for escalating winds that afternoon. I decided to stay the night and leave in the morning when the winds were to be calmer. That afternoon, the winds were probably 15 miles an hour and the bay had become very choppy. I practiced maneuvering in the chop. The boat acted like a surf board on the waves. While the beam (width) is very narrow, it seemed to roll from side to side instead of taking on the full force of the waves. I was encouraged by the number of boats with whole families flying out to go fish in the rough water, some with no side walls whatsoever…and it emboldened me.

That evening in Port Mansfield was beautiful.

                                    

Around 5:00, everything within walking distance was closed, except the supply store at the marina. And there were no deliveries.  I stocked up on flour tortillas, bean dip and picante sauce.  I walked across a mosquito infested field to my $60/night motel room, rolled up some bean burritos and got a good nights sleep.