Chapter 25: Uncle Buck’s Fish Camp

The Fort Meyers Channel which leads from the Gulf of Mexico to the mouth of the Caloosahatchee River was barely stirring as dawn broached the eastern sky. It was an eerie scene as damaged boats of all kinds were piled up on both land and in still-shuttered marinas, remnants of Hurricane Ian’s destruction last fall. Because of all the potential danger from submerged and partially submerged craft, we stayed in the center of the channel. Fortunately we had reprovisioned in Fort Lauderdale a few days ago, so had no reason to stop in Fort Meyers.

Once we reached the river, we were still able to do eight or nine knots, most of the way. There wasn’t a lot of traffic this early, but in a few cases, due to our size, we had to pull as far starboard as we could and still stay in deep water. By deep water, I was referring to eight or nine feet, most of the way.

We reached the W.P. Franklin Lock just before 9:00am. And everyone came out on deck to watch us go through the lock. Anita had on an old shirt I recognized as my mom’s along with sunglasses and a floppy sunhat, so I wasn’t too concerned about anyone recognizing her. What I hadn’t counted on was the crowd of spectators we drew to watch us transit the lock. After slowly making our way up the river this morning, people all along the route must have been calling their friends and neighbors telling them about the large yacht going past.

The lock itself is about fifty feet wide and over four hundred feet long which allowed them to position several pleasure boats in front of us. We did discover that you had to wear your life vest while inside the lock. The lock raised us between two to three feet above mean sea level.

I was surprised that there was no charge for going through the lock. As the lock filled, the lock master also told me they averaged about 25 boats a day, but more on the weekends. He also said ours was not the largest to go through the lock, if you counted barges.

“But it’s darn near the biggest pleasure boat I done seen in a long while,” he said.

After leaving the W.P. Franklin Lock, our next obstacle was the Fort Denaud Bridge. The Denaud bridge is a historic swing bridge, one of three remaining in the state. It is over 400 feet long and only 9 feet above the river. It pivots on a center pin 90 degrees to open, providing two passages, one on each side of the pivot, to continue up the river. We slowed as we approached and contacted the bridge by radio. We soon saw a woman walking out on the bridge carrying a large umbrella to shield herself from the bright Florida sunshine. She stopped in the center and activated the controls and the bridge slowly swung open. The light turned green and we slowly passed by, waving at the woman on the bridge. We received a friendly wave in return.

It was just after noon when we approached the Ortona Lock and requested permission on Marine VHF radio channel 13 to lock through.

“We heard you was coming,” the lock master said. “If you don’t mind, tie up to a couple of dolphins on the starboard side of the channel. It should only be about thirty minutes,” the lock master told us.

Dolphins were groups of creosoted timbers bundled together, on end, and spaced along each side of the channel as you approached the locks. They are for boats to tie up to while waiting on the lock.

Thirty minutes later, after several pleasure craft exited the lock from upstream, we were directed into the 250 foot long lock. It was fifty feet wide and they threw us lines from the port side, supposedly to help stabilize us inside the lock. Fortunately, Captain Tony had warned us about tying them off, so we simply held on to them as they flooded the lock by the simple expedient of slowly opening the upstream gates. This lock raised us over eight feet. From start to finish we were through the lock in less than thirty minutes. Again, a crowd had gathered to see our transit.

It was fifteen more miles to the last lock. The Julian Keen, Jr. Lock (the old Moore Haven Lock) was similar to the others in size and function except that it only raised us another two or three feet to the level of Lake Okeechobee. They also cast us lines from both sides and allowed us to stay more in the middle of the lock. The crowd to watch us transit the lock was also a smaller crowd than at the other locks.

“We don’t often gets such fine looking boats as your’n,” the lock hand said as we slipped our lines and headed out towards Lake Okeechobee.

Two hours later we tied up our 120 foot yacht at the one hundred foot pier fronting Uncle Buck’s Fish Camp, parallel to the shore.

“My, that’s a big one!” said a short skinny man, shirtless, in an old pair of cargo shorts and ragged tennis shoes. You could guess from his deeply tanned and wrinkled skin that he had spent a lot of time in the sun.

“Yeah,” I replied as I opened the starboard side boarding hatch. It was still a drop of three feet to the dock so he brought out a worn-looking box he turned upside down to use as a step.

“Yours?” he inquired innocently.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then you must be Mr. Masters,” he said. “My name’s Buchwald Bucannon Williams, Junior, but folks call me Buck.”

“Alex,” I told him. “My daddy is Mr. Masters.”

“Well, welcome to Uncle Buck’s Fish Camp, Alex. I can’t recollect anyone ever renting out the whole place before. You have a passel of folks with you?” he asked.

“There’s nineteen of us.

“Well, I hope they’s the friendly type ‘cause we only have ten cabins!” he said with a laugh.

I then turned host and helped all the ladies down, introducing each in turn. I introduced the First Lady simply as Anita, along with her friends, Shannon and Angela. Fortunately, they had hidden their guns somewhere. When I got to my mom, I simply said, “Mom, this is our cousin, Buchwald Bucannon Williams, Junior.

“Please, it’s Uncle Buck, ma’am,” he said with a grin.

“Uncle Buck, this is my mom, Laura Williams Masters. Her daddy was Senator Daniel Williams of Austin. And these are my sisters, Kelly Ann and Jenna.”

By this time a group of people had gathered around us. Buck immediately introduced my mom and sisters to his wife and then several people who evidently worked for him.

It then became a game of Jewish Geography as Uncle Buck and Mom both talked about who all in the family they were related to and how. Turns out his daddy and her father, Senator Daniel Williams, were cousins, growing up in Texas on neighboring farms.

While all this was going on, I re-boarded the Cécile and began helping Captain Tony secure the pilothouse. We were plugged into the shore power so we started the generators to replenish the batteries for the inverters. We also started filling the freshwater tanks.