Thursday, July 27: An uncharacteristic 2 p.m. departure and a route straight through York, PA coincided thus allowing us to join Doris and Jerry for dinner. They were to commence diets on the morrow, and an evening of wild abandon ensued: we each ordered our OWN entrees! It will be meal sharing for the altar bound Jim and Joyce. Our first day’s drive ended at the Fracksville Comfort Inn that featured capacious truck parking, perfect for our rig in tow behind the Astro van.
Friday, July 28: After an easy drive to New York’s Wellesley Island State Park Captain rigged and launched our MacGregor 26 M, "A1SAILBOATS.COM. The park rents native American style dugout canoes and invites vacationers to duplicate the pace of the original paddlers: 60 strokes a minute. We demurred in favor of the Perch Fillet dinner at Nut ‘N’ Fancy Restaurant before turning in for the night berthed by the launch ramp.
Saturday, July 29: A flock of 50 Canada Geese in flight noisily coming in for a landing finally roused First Mate Joyce. Netting over the fore deck and companionway hatches kept out the insects that all look benign, and the cool night air was prime sleeping. Captain graciously fore bore his signature 6 a.m. motor ignition in favor of relaxation, of all things. En route to Gananoque to phone in to Canadian Customs on the opposite shore we had a go at tacking under Genoa alone: our boom and mailsail were home in Mayo. In the quiet morning at a pleasant heel along the boulder strewn shores of the Thousand Islands we spied nesting Eagles and ack! rocky obstacles athwart our path. We'll sail our muddy bottomed Chesapeake when we get home, and enjoy Mr. Honda’s smooth 50 horses in the channels.
This year’s Seaway Getaway starts at Trenton, near the extreme eastern end of Lake Ontario by the St Lawrence River above the US border. Having toured both Gananoque and Kingston on previous trips our shore leave in Kingston was limited to lunch where we were serenaded by the Ft George Bagpipers and Fife and Drum Corp. Winds on the nose of 15 knots and a few showers encouraged Captain to tuck into Kerr Bay off Amherst Island by 3:30 in an anchorage of 2 dozen sailboats nestled between a farm and a wooded shore.
Just as offshore reefs buffer Caribbean Coast from ocean , the large mass of islands on Ontario’s northeast corner creates narrow, deep passages threading through the islands for protection from waves across the whole lake’s fetch.
Sunday, July 30: Near glassy calm at rosy skied dawn greeted us as we weighed anchor to make our way at 12 knots along North Channel and Adolphus Reach to the small town of Picton. Boulders of Ocean Quartz have been replaced by granite that sports shocks of trees. Our "land dinghies", bicycles, unused since last summer’s "Sea Chant" tour were launched to tackle gently rolling hills. Jim’s dream of enjoying the splendor of his brand new model was dashed by the collusion of the trailer ladder, a loose rack, and a sharp turn. His rear brake cable will have to be repaired. Picton satisfied all our needs in short order. Touring the tidy streets and floral beds, dining at the marina restaurant, showering steps away from our shady slip. This will be a hard spot to top! We resumed heading north on Long Reach to a left at the Bay of Quinte that will carry us all the way to Trenton. Our mid-afternoon tie-up at Belleview was cut short by Picton’s haunting charm. Belleview, it turns o ut is the only place to repair a bicycle, but its ordinary sprawl failed to beckon us to linger. After a passage of 67 miles today we handed our dock lines to Craig, the congenial dockmaster at the municipal dock at Trenton.
Trenton’s bridge proclaims it to be the "Gateway to the Trent-Severn Waterway" and its waterfront park, jazz band concert, riverwalk, and great restaurants made our stay delightful. Our compact MacGregor is serving quite nicely, thank you. Comfy beds, cold beer, hot morning coffee, Bimini shade, flow through ventilation, smooth 12 knot cruising, and no squawks about fuel costs. Our evening in Trenton was put to good use. A quick horse-trade with a down-locker just completing his passage supplied all our charts. We met our morrow’s up-locker, "Grecian Pride", a 35’ Chris-Craft, and Captain un-stepped our mast.
The Trent-Severn links its two namesake rivers that flow in opposite directions with other lakes and rivers to form a 240 mile long system that takes the voyager to the highest waters navigable from sea level. It was designed to serve the commercial needs of Canada’s heartland farmers and loggers who envisioned shipping their goods from Lake Huron’s upper lobe, Georgian Bay, through the waterway to Lake Ontario. By the time the concept gained steam in the campaign to elect MacDonald Prime Minister the growing railway system was making it obsolete as it was being built. Its canals would have been filled for railroad right-of-ways but were spared by post-war prosperity and the rise of pleasure boating. Trent-Severn is a tourism boon, and we reckon to join in.
Monday, July 31: At the 8:30 a.m. opening of Lock 1 we are the first vessel tied to the port wall just behind the sill impatiently awaiting "Grecian Pride’s" arrival. Guide books advise us that a diligent captain can complete the waterway in 6 days, so naturally, Captain buys a 5 day one way pass at $4.50/ft intent on bettering the time. Lock 1 is part of a 6 flight series spaced about a mile apart. No need to signal; each lockmaster calls ahead and gates creak open on our approach with a locktender on each side circling "mule fashion" around a moveable turnstile. The turnstile handle bars also double as floodgate controls. Lift heights vary with the terrain with most about 20 feet.
We parted company with "Grecian Pride" who pressed on while we elected to bike around Frankford for lunch and ice. Alas, Captain rearranged the mast from its hinge point at the mast tabernacle to its trailering configuration suspended from the bow pulpit. This minimizes the projection of the mast beyond the transom. However, First Mate had been reliving her childhood dangling her legs over the bow, and resting her head on the point of the pulpit as we motored between our six morning locks. We have an 11 mile run between Locks 7 and 8 passing summer cottages and children squealing with delight as our wake supplies waves in the 81 degree water. A broad marsh of cat tails replaces our narrow river and the banks are lined by layers of shale. I wish you hadn’t sent us that damn Yankee heat and humidity with threats of thundershowers. That’s what we came north to escape! The steady breezes keep us comfortable as we continue on at 5 p.m. spying "Grecian Pride" snug in her berth a long t he seawall in Campbelford at Lock 13. It is a tempting town but we have learned that the lock day now ends at 7 p.m. instead of 8:30 proclaimed in last year’s tour book. Oh those indolent captains of yore who dallied in towns after 7! This light twilight usage will confound Jim’s goal of shaving a day off "diligent passage." Our afternoon lockmate is a speedy ski boat with a youngster aboard anxious to reach lake country. They tear off after every lock and impatiently await the lock tender’s gate openings and his slower companion’s arrival.
Both at Rainey Falls at Locks 11 & 12, and Locks 16 & 17 the locks are in tandem sharing a common lock gate in the middle to accomplish steep lifting of 40’. Our ski boat companion locked through #18 and the lake beyond, but we straggled into Hastings as the last Fish and Chippery was sweeping its floors as they served us. The corner ice cream shop unlocked its doors for the last customers of the night at 9:15. The only folk to pass A1 SAILBOATS.COM lying on the town sea wall were fishermen. It was a warm night.
Tuesday, August 1: Forecast temperatures are for 115 year record breaking heat and humidity. Our fore ward hatch is suspended open to funnel an evaporative flow of air through the cabin. We conserved our melted cooler water in a bucket, and voila: we are as cool as cucumbers. Even Captain slept until 8 today: it must be a vacation. We can see the lock tenders releasing the chamber that had been flooded overnight in preparation for our passage into Rice Lake 57 miles from our start in Trenton. Before the waterway was built the lake’s water level fluctuations were ideal for the growth of wild rice. Rice today is limited to the fringes but still draws migratory water fowl to this, the second largest lake in the system. It is 20 miles long and 3 miles wide flanked by rolling hills. Some are cleared for pasture studded with rocky outcroppings, and are interspersed with stands of woods and tidy farms followed by strings of cottages at water’s edge. Winds are on the nose at 15 – 20 but we’ll be gone before any serious chop sets in. Mid-lake islands also break its fetch. The now submerged foundations of a former railway bridge , called a "crib", have Captain keeping a sharp watch on our markers. Rice Lake runs from Mile 57 – 69, and at 68.5 we enter the Otonobee River that leads to the bright lights of Peterborough.
It is a might warm. Funny, our Fahrenheit to Celsius conversion chart stops at 90F degrees equals 32.2C. There was talk along the locks yesterday of heat indexes of 41 degrees that were to soar to 45 today. That would be 105 to 115 by my math. Yikes! We’ll have to immerse ourselves up to our necks as the natives all along the river are doing this morning. That does it. We’re heading for the Holiday Inn at Peterborough after lunch and hunkering down in a/c for the rest of the day. Our ice is holding out remarkably well since First Mate deployed the 2 dinette back rest cushions to full time use on top and in front of our Coleman cooler plus a PFD in the rear.
Wednesday, Aug 2: Peterborough is a marvelous town tailor made for bicycling. The river widens into a lake around which businesses and homes are arrayed. The city marina’s floating docks extend behind the Holiday Inn’s waterfront, and dockage is waived with room rental. A family on a rental houseboat and A1 SAILBOATS.COM took the city up on its offer. Embarrassing to say but the blandishments of soft shore life so bedazzled us that we never left our refuge from 1:30 Tuesday until check-out at 8:30 today. Refreshed and back aboard we were trailed into the lock by Mallards assured of 5 minutes of soulful begging. I caved; I didn’t want that Rye heel anyhow. We’ve spotted two Snapping Turtles locking through as well, but they didn’t pay us any never mind. Thankfully today the sky is overcast with the odd sprinkle, cooler temperatures and steady breezes. Downtown Peterborough lies between two conventional locks, the piece de resistance is a 66’ hydraulic lifting lock arranged like twin lift racks in a garage. While we are up-locking along with the rental houseboat family other boats were down-locking. We passed each other in mid-air. A large piston lifts boats, water and all, and very little additional water is needed to equalize at the top before we are on our way. The up-lock view varied from the ecologically conscious Trent University Campus split by the waterway with its "green roofs", slopes with sod and growing plants, and a width just able to accommodate two way traffic to broad marshes of rushes, cat tails and blooming white water lilies. A Loon gave call at our passing. All morning locks came in quick succession and First Mate kept her side saddle perch on starboard bow. Lock 26 at Lakefield looks inviting for lunch but our feast of omelets and waffles stood us in good stead. First Mate did scamper across the footbridge, alas sans wallet, while waiting on the Blue Wall for entry into Lock 27 to the fabled shopping at Young’s Point Lockside Trading Company. One expects ice cream and souvenirs but a plasma TV and full sets of furniture? It was a mini Sears & Roebuck offering homespun wisdom on a plaque: Mosquitoes Suck. No longer do lock tenders call ahead to forecast our arrival; we’ve entered Kawartha Lake country, and boaters are apt to dawdle fishing, swimming and such like.
Our first lake was Clear Lake, the epitome of a summer camp site, where rental cottages abound. After a twisty passage it gives way to Stony Lake with scenery akin to The Thousand Islands. Its pine covered boulder islands put one in mind of Bonsai dish gardens on a giant’s scale, and the larger ones have homes tucked discreetly into the greenery. Gulls perch on rocks that are awash keeping their toes cool and a watchful eye out for fish. They are supplements to the aids to navigation marking submerged hazards. Guides must have made a fortune here before charts: the intricate isles and coves are a nautical maze. Captain pays strict attention to our channel on this large lake lest we blunder off the path to the exit spellbound by the vistas.
Burleigh Falls at Lock 28 marks the beginning of modern metal door locks operated hydraulically. Previous gates were hand cranked and formed of squared tree trunks held down in the frame structures by stacks of weights. Modern technology spelled the demise of Lock 29 since one lock could perform the total lifting task. We popped right around the corner into Lock 30, entrance to Lovesick Lake. Legends vary as to who was originally lovesick, but the spurned one retreated to a suitably isolated outcrop and pined; happily, a full recovery is reported. We celebrated at Lovesick Café with delicately fried Pickeral and warm-from-the-oven Apple Crisp and Bumble Berry Pie, rhubarb plus 3 seasonal berries. Teens fresh from cavorting among the Falls ate ice cream outside our window. These plus others we saw today swinging from tree ropes to splash in the lake or jump down from disused railway swing bridges complete a Norman Rockwell image of youth in summer.
There is talk at the lock of a coming THUNDERSTORM. Must be a rarity here because locals view it as we would a pending hurricane. Lock 31 into Buckhorn Lake is our last for the day. This is the mid-way point on the waterway 120 miles from Trenton. Captain has fallen under Kawarth’s spell: did he say 5 days to transit? Ha! Why we could anchor for the night and swim off the transom in the company of these three fishing boats. SPLASH! Captain! You swim back here, captain!
Black skies let forth a torrent of rain, but our anchor held fast. The storm’s fury gave way to steady rain—and snores. What is that bright beacon I see while opening the foredeck hatch about 2 a.m.? The water version of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police convinced we may need rescuing. Brrr! Blankets! I need rescuing from this change in the air. Oh Canada! This is what we came for!
Thursday, August 3: Captain hauled in a boon, a 10 lb Hooker Economy "lunch hook" anchor lost by some previous fisherman. No wonder our anchor held; it dragged into a companion. We’re underway through the heart of Lake Country ogling our way past mansions, yachts, and a 4 story retirement home the size of a hotel complex. We thread our way through Buckhorn’s narrows to emerge into Pigeon Lake. It boasts a sailing yacht club that sponsors races in this obstacle-free open water.
Pigeon is separated from Bobcaygeon Lake by Lock 32, the oldest lock in the waterway, but now modernized. Bobcaygeon is a Mississauga Indian name meaning "shallow rapids." It has enjoyed a one day high of 370 vessel transits, and close to 9000 in a season. Lock tenders are busy raking downed limbs off the island on which the lock perches. The invigorating air had us aboard the land dinghies, that is until Captain spied "Full Cup Café" offering Peameal Bacon and Eggs in a 50’s retro setting. Peameal bacon is an inch thick center loin ham slice dipped lightly in a pea meal batter for you Lower 48ers. Jackets and long pants are put by after brunch for our blitz through Sturgeon Lake, a v-shaped, narrow body fed by the Fenelon River. Early on the Canadian Tourism Bureau declared this THE ideal summer vacation. No argument here. Its popularity provided us with a peanut gallery of on-lookers as we up-locked 4’ past Fenelon Falls to the pinnacle of our journey on Balsam Lake. It is shape d like a rough butterfly with a massive central island for a body. A narrow canal opens into Mitchell Lake, and onward to Lock 36 at Kirkfield, our 2nd hydraulic lift lock. Only this time we will descend 49’ for the first time from our peak elevation of 840.6’. Since before the lock gate was beneath us as we entered we didn’t notice that it folds down flat on the front and lies underneath us at exit. Hooray! From now on First Mate, and Captain, too, will be pampered by the lock staff who take our bow and stern lines we hand to them and they thread them beneath the stationary black wall tether cables. Marker colors are reversed for the balance of our down-locking to Port Severn. Liquid Sunshine prevailed for our final 5 locks of the day with just enough breeze that First Mate remained dry when we tied up for the night along the Lock Wall outside Lake Simcoe. 62 miles made good today. Hot soup aboard warmed Mate who snoozed from dark until an early morning boater off the lake for gas passed leaving a mighty wake. Where is the RCMP now?
Friday, August 4: We are advised to tackle Lake Simcoe’s 20’ length by 16’ width in the early morning before winds pick up. Actually, there’s a great sailing breeze for those headed in the opposite direction as we get underway. Our 320 degree NW passage across a corner of Simcoe into the Narrows puts the wind smack on the nose with a light chop. Spray is thrown over the bow, and the light mist evaporates as fast as it flies: No Salt! As we cleared the third marker in the open lake with a course change ahead Captain pined for his "windshield", a 2.5’ square of thin plexiglass with corner holes drilled through for small twine. "Done," said First Mate who watched in fascination as twine was interlaced over the Bimini frame and a windshield supplemented by a cockpit cushion on edge indeed became a windshield. The course change to 0, due North brought a drenching blast of water. Simcoe blew, spray flew, and Captain was as snug as before in his improvised pilothouse. At The Narrows water calmed, then led us into Lake Couchiching. We made a bee-line along the base of the lake to the town bulkhead of Orillia, the first town in Canada to enjoy electric lighting thanks to its hydro-electric dam. Many Provinces are enjoying the start of a 3 day weekend, Civic Holiday.
Captain has rented a "land yacht", a bright red Suzuki Swift to retrace our passage along Rt 401 to retrieve our tow rig and move it ahead to Port Severn. We have little down-locking left. Our final elevation exiting Lock 45 on Severn Bay that opens into Georgian Bay, the northern lobe of Lake Huron will be 594’. Environment concerns precluded the completion of Lock 44: fear that the Lamprey Eel would spread beyond the St Lawrence system. In lieu of Lock 44 the "temporary" railway will haul us down what is dubbed "Big Chute."
Our drive passes through bucolic countryside, and we share the roadway with harvesting equipment on the way to reap and bale hay. At sunset with rays passing over fresh rolled bales they are transformed into gold coins standing on edge sharply defined against the sky. 401 also passes near Lake Ontario which we have paralleled in the protection of the chain of finger lakes and rivers.
Saturday, August 5: By mid-day we are back from retrieving our van now awaiting us at Bush’s Marina. Quiet Lake Couchiching (Coo-itching) with its waterside park is bursting at the seams. No wind today but the lake is awash in power boat wakes; beaches and coves resemble seal colonies. The upper end of the lake narrows into what is known locally as "The Bowling Alley." Captain has reprised my Wednesday evening raceboat role as Rear Observer to advise him when cruisers are about to blast past him. At the end of the canal to the lock vessels too numerous to fit on the official Blue Waiting Wall are idling. Captain’s free booty lunch hook is just the ticket to hold A1 SAILBOATS.COM’s place in line. This busy lock merits a yellow signal well in front of the light that changes from red to green when it is time to enter Lock 42.
Lock 42 is locking as we have never seen it before. Vessels are tied on each lock wall, and a third boat nuzzles along side a mate of equal height. Four rows of three abreast is the goal. At our locking a 43’ Present Flying Bridge Trawler with 15’ beam left just enough space for A1 SAILBOATS.COM to glide in the middle of row 3, and we locked through with 11 vessels. No one was short enough to fit behind the Present.
Our chanel opens onto Sparrow Lake, as diminutive as its name suggests. Beyond it is a gorge of pink and gray granite boulders rising steeply beside us. Wednesday’s storm toppled many a pine off its rocky sub-strata, its root mass a smooth plane that found no purchase in the rock below. Many cottagers are still without power here where a tornado accompanied the thunder and rain.
Just when we thought we had seen it all, Rapid Rapids Lock built in 1965 bowled us over with its 47’ descent. In addition to the ordinary black tether cables, Mate enjoyed the luxury of being tied at the bow to a floating bollard that descended as we did. From the bowels of "Giant Lock" emanated sounds akin to what Noah must have heard when swallowed by the Whale. As like Noah, we too, were mercifully spit forth unharmed when the towering lock gate opened to seek a secluded overnight anchorage on the Severn River in Wood’s Creek.
Cast fishing is an obsession in these parts. From docks along the route, in open boats, even from a boat tethered to a marker in the wake tossed Bowling Alley, from daybreak past dusk, they cast. Oddly, we see no creels for their catch, just minnow baskets suspended in the water. When we over-nighted on the lock wall at Gamebridge a grizzled retiree was there trying his luck when First Mate retired for the night. He was there when we arose in the morning. For all we know he could have been our overnight Guardian Gnome. With a nearly full moon, it was no surprise to have half-a-dozen open boats with 2 to 3 young men apiece earnestly casting long past sunset. A family in a paddle boat: mom, dad and 9 year old daughter, rods akimbo, slowly pass by. A father with 2 young sons canoed nearby. The tyke on the bow did his best to hold his paddle over the side; the coordination of stroking awaits another year. Miss Pumpkin turned in by 9:00 anticipating the morrow’s excitement of descending on the world’s only marine railway lowering and lifting vessels 57’.
Sunday, August 6: Big doings Saturday at Big Chute. An electrical cable frayed through emitting sparks and flame. The down bound vessels had to back off creating a bit of a backlog today for us to observe before its our turn. A staff of 4 supervise loading the "lock", again with 3 abreast in the front. A large vessel with twin screws completed the first load. The aft vessel looked as if an excess of stern protruded beyond the lift. But as this giant "St Christopher" pulled its load onto its straps fully out of the water we could see the props safely jutting beyond the back edge. As the stern vessel’s weight shifted to the straps it listed to port much as a sailboat heels in the wind. The innards of the lift building resemble a ski lift mechanism with huge cable drums lowering this oversized travel lift downhill like a skiing gondola, except the lift is guided from below rather than the lift being in suspension. The complete round trip cycle takes 45 minutes. Now First Mate is accustomed to heeling, but having our bow head down a 25 degree slope is as close as "Chicken Little" cares to come to pitch-poling head over heels. And at the base Little Chute’s 5 knot flow awaits us when we pull out of Big Chute
After two down bound loads our narrow girth garnered us a place in the port forward corner. No lines for First Mate to monitor, but she needed to grip a steel handrail with the boat hook to keep the bow from blowing into another boat’s loading space as morning breezes built. Mate had visions of descending astride the mast and furled genoa on the bow fore peak akin to Slim Pickin’s riding a falling atom bomb in the movie Dr. Strangelove. Once a large aft vessel completed our load the giant tugged by 4 cables imperceptibly commenced lumbering up hill until the slings held all aboard snuggly. We stopped for inspection in front of the dam overlook road. Lights flashed and bars to halt traffic lowered to clear the path ahead of us to cross the road before plunging over the precipice. Oddly the bars raised, and we stayed put. Twice more the operators had a running go at lowering us before announcing that we were all to be off loaded. Too many electrical gremlins were triggering safety warnings to the computer operating system. We did observe the solution to the 25 degree grade of descent. Dual tracks for the lift wheels with the inner track elevated to compensate for the slope allows vessel to ride down nearly level. The aft wheels are wider spaced and follow the incline.
While a repairman is on his way we have no way of knowing how long the delay will last. Fellow disappointed Big Chuters, Lynn and Scott aboard a 25’ Baja had been pent up since yesterday. Captain put Plan B into effect. He tied up at a floating dock beside a shallow launch ramp and deployed the land dinghies. Captain and Mate, helmeted and poised to set out were dissuaded by Lynn's earnest entreaties. They were now separated from their boating buddies who had been lowered just ahead of them with all the food while they remained above with all the charts. We all trekked down the staircase and whistled up Bev and David aboard their 19’ Cuddy Cabin Winker. The men went aboard to head for Bush’s Marina while we girls like ants at a picnic toted the food back to the Baja to await Captain’s return with van and trailer. As a bonus, Captain was able to haul out and re-launch the Winker reuniting the friends. Since they are based on Lake Simcoe they have lost interest in Big Chute s ince t hey would be dependent on being able to return again on Monday. It was a win-win partnership: Jim got a ride to his van; Dave got his boat back up the Chute to rejoin his friends.
Like a cat licking cream from her whiskers I had just finished ice cream when I spotted A1 SAILBOATS.COM loaded on the trailer in the parking lot above the dam with Captain completing preparations for the road. The loud speaker announced restoration of service and called for the MacGregor to return for priority in line. Better to have locked and aborted than never to have locked at all. We had only one last lock beyond to go to complete this premier waterway. And I saw it all from the bow of our MacGregor.
By land it was 331 miles one way for our tow rig in Port Severn. Our journey home halted for the night in a campground, still aboard, in Cobourg East Campground in Grafton. We are beside a field of wildflowers: Queen Anne’s Lace and magenta flower spikes with shady trees. Monday and Tuesday will bring us easily back to Mayo to dream about the lakes we’ll head back to next summer.
The Trent-Severn Veterans
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Bahamas Getaway - MacGregor 26M
The last trip Joyce and I took with a Macgregor powersailor was to Maine in 2003. Since then demand for the boat had made it difficult to secure one for my personal use. When the first 2006 model boats arrived I was determined to claim one of them myself. It has been 5 years since the last Bahamas adventure ( see Millennium tour 2000) and we were excited and ready to get started.
1/3/06 – Day One – Depart 3pm from our home in Mayo, Md., after baby sitting detail for Joyce and last minute packing for Jim. Just crossed into North Carolina on I95 when an increased vibration alerted me to a bad tire. Time to unhook the boat and head off in search of a new tire. Found a motel room instead.
Day 2 – Fast repairs, had 2 new tires installed with the extra tire as a spare, and back on I95 by 08:30. Made it to just south of Daytona Beach and camped out in the boat at a shopping center parking lot. Chilly but comfy with 2 blankets.
Day 3 – Arrive West Palm Beach 0900 Waste some time at Crackerboy and Riviera Beach Marinas looking for parking for the van and trailer. No luck so decided to leave it at the ramp. It was suggested that we call local storage lots, but I was in a hurry. I’m sure fenced storage could have been arranged. Things have changed a lot since I was here 10 years ago, new condos everywhere. Launched, fueled, watered, and departed, clearing the inlet at 1pm.
As predicted, nice and calm at sea, so we motored at 12-14 mph. Things got a little bumpier and I slowed a bit. Later that afternoon I decided to add the water ballast and slow even further, to 7 mph. Made it to West End Grand Bahama just after dark but unfortunately could not find the marina entrance (no lights) in the dark. With the rough conditions with the 15 knot south wind piling waves up on the beach, we decided to head for Freeport, whose commercial harbor has an easier entrance. It was a lumpy, bumpy 15 miles down the coast, but we arrived and tied up at the Bradford Marina at 10pm. A large historic looking but beat up sailing ship was also docked. Turned out to be the replica ship being used in the “Pirate’s of the Caribbean II” starring Johnny Depp. Very cool. We had put in a long day and quickly fell asleep, after assuring the guard we would check in with the marina office (pay) in the morning.
Day 4 – Called customs at 7:30 am, waited and waited – immigration arrived 10:30, customs at 1:30. Spent the morning tidying up, reading, and watching a busy work crew imported from Vancouver, Canada, overhaul the lifeboats from a cruise ship. We finally got underway at 2pm to do the 9 miles to Port Lucaya. Out past the Pirate ship, the channel had 4’ waves and whitecaps everywhere. Took a real bouncing for a while until we squared away downwind in 100’ of water. Joyce knew it was bad when I asked for a life preserver, something most of my sailing buddies have never heard me do. Things settled down and we motorsailed with a little jib out, pulling into Port Lucaya at 4pm, just in time for a quick dip in the hot tub before a really nice dinner at the Harbour Club restaurant while watching a “Cirque du Soliel”tape on the big screen TV.
Day 5 - Touristing day. Walk to grocery and back (3 miles) snooze on beach, weather cool but sunny. As a surprise for Joyce I got a room at the hotel (mostly to watch the Redskins/Buccaneers playoff game. We drank rum punch and cheered the Redskins on in their win.
Day 6 – Beautiful, calm morning. Said goodbye to our luxurious hotel room, departed 0900 for Peter Island, where Mark and I stopped in 1995. The Island has been virtually wiped out by hurricanes since then, so we kept on and 15 miles further East peeked into the new commercial fuel oil port, gritty but a great harbor of refuge. We busily entered the entrance in the GPS for future use. 17 miles further we made it to the Deep Cay Club. The entrance was anything but deep, however, and we were glad for the shallow draft of the MacGregor. The club manager and his wife, Kent and Helen, were very nice. They live there with their two children and manage the club, which is a bone fishing club for the wealthy, with private airstrip. We enjoyed our look around , got some fuel, and headed down shallow Runner creek, with instructions from Kent. Runner Creek was very treacherous, and we scraped the bottom several times during the 3-4 miles to the north “ Bight of Abaco” side. Near the exit of the creek we tossed the lunch hook out in the quiet, shallow water and enjoyed a great sunset complete with happy hour. After dark I slid back the hatch to take a look around. Surprise! We had dragged our little anchor with the incoming tide and had quietly nestled into the mangroves. I had never felt it! A good push with the spinnaker pole and we backed out under power and re-anchored, this time with the larger anchor.
Day 7 – Mirror calm images mesmerized us as the sun gradually revealed itself. A passing powerboat, one of a fleet that transport locals to jobs on other islands, showed us the preferred route out of the creek and onto the Abaco bight. This is an amazing area, about 20 x 50 miles, with 10 to 24 ft depths and no navigational hazards. There are few inhabitants and virtually no cruising boats, probably due to the popularity of the outer Abacos. We enjoyed the relative solitude, however, and after an hour or so of powering hoisted sails in the light winds for a close reach to Basin Cay, even going out on the trapeze while Joyce steered. With a little fine tuning I was able to steer the boat by shifting body weight while Joyce read in the cockpit.
We hoped to visit Cooperstown, the largest settlement on Great Abaco island, by approaching a shallow dock, but due to low tide it seemed a bit too shallow, and the charts were not very helpful. After an approach from around Randall Cay failed also. We gave up and headed for Mangrove Cay, basically an unprotected lee in shallow water surrounded by reefs. Water temperature had dropped 10 degrees to 65 from the south side of Grand Bahama Island, reminding me why I had gone further south on other trips. We moved to a spot closer to a long sandbar, which was a little more protected, almost anchoring on top of a sand shark. I tried to snag him with a few casts from my spinning rod. Joyce fixed spaghetti and we watched a movie on the VCR. There was plenty of storage space aboard and I’m sure we carried at least twice as much as we needed. I still do that despite many years experience.
Day 8 – Departed peaceful Mangrove Cay near high tide at 8am, and tried the risky, uncharted back passage to the “haulover”. The haulover was a narrow cut blasted through the rock, said to be no more than 20 feet wide and navigable for small boats only at slack high water. The reason to risk such a passage was to cut 20 miles off the regular route around Little Abaco Island to Foxtown. We passed a hurricane demolished hotel and a large fishing boat blown up on a desolate beach. The brown shoals showed up well enough despite the overcast sky, as we rushed along at top speed in mostly 3-4’ with some 6-7’ in places. The haulover was not marked exactly so when I saw it, it looked impossibly narrow, with a little rocky clump almost in the approach. The water was already sluicing through the cut at an estimated 5-6kts, but the water deepened to 5’ so I lined up and shot through the gap, squirting out the other side into the choppy tidal waves and quickly gaining the deeper water on the north side. It was an exhilarating experience, as there really was no more the 6’ on either side of the boat as we passed through. The guide books did not recommend this passage for good reason.
Foxtown was a dreary, hurricane battered place, but active with fishermen unloading their catches and various ferry boats. We fueled and iced up and headed out, intending to anchor in the Hawksbill cays, but there were no attractive beaches. With more time available, I would have headed south in the Abacos. We saw several other cruising boats slogging to windward under power so with SE winds of 15-20 we decided to sail downwind to Great Sale Cay, about 28 miles. This was the longest pure sail of the trip. While underway we deployed the trolling lines, put up the bimini top, and enjoyed the sail over sparkling, azure blue water. We felt like we were on a highway of sorts, as all traffic rounds Great and Little Sale Cays before heading southeast into the Abacos. Several sail and powerboats passed close, with friendly waves.
Suddenly one of the reels started singing. Fish on ! Furling the jib, luffing up, dropping the bimini, and winding in the fish, finding the bucket and hauling it aboard diverted our attention from the shoaling waters and we almost sailed onto a sandbar. Regaining out bearings and again back in deeper water, I took a GPS fix and charted a safe course to Little Sale Cay, arriving and anchoring in the lee of Great Sale Cay about 4pm. There was time to wade ashore for a beach walk and then clean the fish (a Kingfish or possibly a Mackerel) and cook it for dinner, with buttered sweet potatoes drizzled with coconut rum and fried onions and tomatoes. What a feast! We tied the carcass alongside and never felt the shark that took the entire thing during the night.
Day 9 – Up and out by 7am, it was calmer, so with full fuel tanks we motored the 23 miles to Mangrove Cay II, the turning point for the entrance to the Grand Lucayan Canal, another 17 miles distant. At that point the broad reach would have yielded a boat speed of about 3 kts under sail, so we continued to motor at 14kts and, of course, overshot the entrance by a mile or two. Not bothering with a GPS waypoint for the canal entrance was a mistake, but not a costly one. The canal was newly dredged and marked and had 5’ at mid tide. We pulled into a side canal, tied to a convenient tree, and enjoyed a refreshing sun shower in the cockpit. The canal was a pleasant change from the vastness of the ocean. Mark Svenson and I passed through ten years earlier, and little had changed. There were a few more houses, but lot development is still no more than 5%. Sailing buddy Fritz Wray owns a lot here somewhere, purchased in the 60’s.
Near the south end we saw the film crew for the “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie with more of the pirate ships, including the “death ship” and several partial decks mounted on barges. They did not appear to welcome star-struck gawkers, so we passed by and out onto the ocean again. It was a little lumpy, especially compared to the canal, and we were glad to regain the sanctuary of Port Lucaya. Soon we were happily back in the hot tub. Dinner plans were almost short –circuited by an untimely power outage. We had a drink at Rumrunner’s bar and chatted with other yachties until the power came back on. We weren’t worried, there was no shortage of fish aboard A-1 Express. With the forecast for deteriorating weather it looked like tomorrow would be the best time to cross the Gulfstream for a few days, so we turned in after dinner, anticipating an early departure.
Day 10 – Up at 4am and on the ocean at 5am, we motored west, passing several boats which were slowly approaching Port Lucaya, and later several ships near Freeport’s commercial harbor. As the sky began to lighten, I increased speed and we hurried towards our destination, gradually putting all signs of Grand Bahama behind us. The NE wind against the stream built the waves into lumps, abaft the beam, and soon we were skittering down, twisting and turning, fighting the wheel for control. By 8am Joyce found it a bit much so we stopped and filled the ballast tank, then hoisted full sail. It’s always fun to sail a bit, even though the reality is the slower speed adds too much to the crossing time. Who wants to get in after dark? Even the US coast appears less friendly after dark, so we motorsailed, a good compromise, making 7-8kts, more when surfing down waves. We took turns steering in 1 hour shifts. As it got gradually rougher Joyce began to tire so I took the last 3 hours, homing in on the GPS coordinates of Lake Worth inlet, arriving back at our launch point about 4pm. 78 miles in 11 hours, across a lumpy sea, for an average of 7 kts in a lightweight trailerable boat, was not bad. The Macgregor 65 would not have made better time in the same conditions. We were glad to be back across, and looking forward to a couple days on the Florida waterways.
With some relief we found the van and trailer intact, but when the van failed to start due to a totally dead battery it took the efforts of a friendly local fisherman and a jump start to get it going. The culprit was a reading lamp over the passenger seat had been left on. Oops!, said Joyce. We charged it up by driving to our favorite restaurant, The Holiday House, for a sumptuous buffet feast to celebrate our safe trip. We could have stayed tied to the pier but we had an experience a few years ago when the wind shifted and the boat began to bump the dock in the middle of the night, so we elect to anchor out whenever possible. We had not counted on the wakes from passing boats far out on the ICW, however, and had to set the 2nd anchor to keep the stern into the wakes.
Day 11 – We awoke early, due to needing a reset of the biological clocks, and headed over to newly restored “Peanut Island”, which lies in the middle of the harbor. The park service has done a remarkable job, with new walkways, a snorkeling lagoon, manicured beaches and a day use marina where we tied up. Very restful. At noon we motored over to the Tiki bar at nearby Riviera Beach marina, for a great fish sandwich. The weather report was for severe thunderstorms and rain in the afternoon, so it was back to the ramp and out for A-1 Express. The versatile powersailor had done its job again, with a mid-winter break in the Bahamas accomplished in comfort and safety. We headed back up I95 about 3pm and continued late into the night, with a few hours rest aboard in another friendly parking lot.
Day 12 – Drove up past Savannah and stopped to visit some friends who have retired to “Sun City”, and to watch the last playoff games before the Super Bowl. We spent a relaxing day touring the area and the amenities of the resort community. Annapolis will take another 12 hours on I95, for a total of about 2200 miles of trailering and about 400 miles of ocean cruising in 14 days, an adventure only a trailersailor can have. Soon we will be back in Maryland, but we will have the memories forever.
--Cheers and happy sailing from Capt Jim and first mate Joyce!
1/3/06 – Day One – Depart 3pm from our home in Mayo, Md., after baby sitting detail for Joyce and last minute packing for Jim. Just crossed into North Carolina on I95 when an increased vibration alerted me to a bad tire. Time to unhook the boat and head off in search of a new tire. Found a motel room instead.
Day 2 – Fast repairs, had 2 new tires installed with the extra tire as a spare, and back on I95 by 08:30. Made it to just south of Daytona Beach and camped out in the boat at a shopping center parking lot. Chilly but comfy with 2 blankets.
Day 3 – Arrive West Palm Beach 0900 Waste some time at Crackerboy and Riviera Beach Marinas looking for parking for the van and trailer. No luck so decided to leave it at the ramp. It was suggested that we call local storage lots, but I was in a hurry. I’m sure fenced storage could have been arranged. Things have changed a lot since I was here 10 years ago, new condos everywhere. Launched, fueled, watered, and departed, clearing the inlet at 1pm.
As predicted, nice and calm at sea, so we motored at 12-14 mph. Things got a little bumpier and I slowed a bit. Later that afternoon I decided to add the water ballast and slow even further, to 7 mph. Made it to West End Grand Bahama just after dark but unfortunately could not find the marina entrance (no lights) in the dark. With the rough conditions with the 15 knot south wind piling waves up on the beach, we decided to head for Freeport, whose commercial harbor has an easier entrance. It was a lumpy, bumpy 15 miles down the coast, but we arrived and tied up at the Bradford Marina at 10pm. A large historic looking but beat up sailing ship was also docked. Turned out to be the replica ship being used in the “Pirate’s of the Caribbean II” starring Johnny Depp. Very cool. We had put in a long day and quickly fell asleep, after assuring the guard we would check in with the marina office (pay) in the morning.
Day 4 – Called customs at 7:30 am, waited and waited – immigration arrived 10:30, customs at 1:30. Spent the morning tidying up, reading, and watching a busy work crew imported from Vancouver, Canada, overhaul the lifeboats from a cruise ship. We finally got underway at 2pm to do the 9 miles to Port Lucaya. Out past the Pirate ship, the channel had 4’ waves and whitecaps everywhere. Took a real bouncing for a while until we squared away downwind in 100’ of water. Joyce knew it was bad when I asked for a life preserver, something most of my sailing buddies have never heard me do. Things settled down and we motorsailed with a little jib out, pulling into Port Lucaya at 4pm, just in time for a quick dip in the hot tub before a really nice dinner at the Harbour Club restaurant while watching a “Cirque du Soliel”tape on the big screen TV.
Day 5 - Touristing day. Walk to grocery and back (3 miles) snooze on beach, weather cool but sunny. As a surprise for Joyce I got a room at the hotel (mostly to watch the Redskins/Buccaneers playoff game. We drank rum punch and cheered the Redskins on in their win.
Day 6 – Beautiful, calm morning. Said goodbye to our luxurious hotel room, departed 0900 for Peter Island, where Mark and I stopped in 1995. The Island has been virtually wiped out by hurricanes since then, so we kept on and 15 miles further East peeked into the new commercial fuel oil port, gritty but a great harbor of refuge. We busily entered the entrance in the GPS for future use. 17 miles further we made it to the Deep Cay Club. The entrance was anything but deep, however, and we were glad for the shallow draft of the MacGregor. The club manager and his wife, Kent and Helen, were very nice. They live there with their two children and manage the club, which is a bone fishing club for the wealthy, with private airstrip. We enjoyed our look around , got some fuel, and headed down shallow Runner creek, with instructions from Kent. Runner Creek was very treacherous, and we scraped the bottom several times during the 3-4 miles to the north “ Bight of Abaco” side. Near the exit of the creek we tossed the lunch hook out in the quiet, shallow water and enjoyed a great sunset complete with happy hour. After dark I slid back the hatch to take a look around. Surprise! We had dragged our little anchor with the incoming tide and had quietly nestled into the mangroves. I had never felt it! A good push with the spinnaker pole and we backed out under power and re-anchored, this time with the larger anchor.
Day 7 – Mirror calm images mesmerized us as the sun gradually revealed itself. A passing powerboat, one of a fleet that transport locals to jobs on other islands, showed us the preferred route out of the creek and onto the Abaco bight. This is an amazing area, about 20 x 50 miles, with 10 to 24 ft depths and no navigational hazards. There are few inhabitants and virtually no cruising boats, probably due to the popularity of the outer Abacos. We enjoyed the relative solitude, however, and after an hour or so of powering hoisted sails in the light winds for a close reach to Basin Cay, even going out on the trapeze while Joyce steered. With a little fine tuning I was able to steer the boat by shifting body weight while Joyce read in the cockpit.
We hoped to visit Cooperstown, the largest settlement on Great Abaco island, by approaching a shallow dock, but due to low tide it seemed a bit too shallow, and the charts were not very helpful. After an approach from around Randall Cay failed also. We gave up and headed for Mangrove Cay, basically an unprotected lee in shallow water surrounded by reefs. Water temperature had dropped 10 degrees to 65 from the south side of Grand Bahama Island, reminding me why I had gone further south on other trips. We moved to a spot closer to a long sandbar, which was a little more protected, almost anchoring on top of a sand shark. I tried to snag him with a few casts from my spinning rod. Joyce fixed spaghetti and we watched a movie on the VCR. There was plenty of storage space aboard and I’m sure we carried at least twice as much as we needed. I still do that despite many years experience.
Day 8 – Departed peaceful Mangrove Cay near high tide at 8am, and tried the risky, uncharted back passage to the “haulover”. The haulover was a narrow cut blasted through the rock, said to be no more than 20 feet wide and navigable for small boats only at slack high water. The reason to risk such a passage was to cut 20 miles off the regular route around Little Abaco Island to Foxtown. We passed a hurricane demolished hotel and a large fishing boat blown up on a desolate beach. The brown shoals showed up well enough despite the overcast sky, as we rushed along at top speed in mostly 3-4’ with some 6-7’ in places. The haulover was not marked exactly so when I saw it, it looked impossibly narrow, with a little rocky clump almost in the approach. The water was already sluicing through the cut at an estimated 5-6kts, but the water deepened to 5’ so I lined up and shot through the gap, squirting out the other side into the choppy tidal waves and quickly gaining the deeper water on the north side. It was an exhilarating experience, as there really was no more the 6’ on either side of the boat as we passed through. The guide books did not recommend this passage for good reason.
Foxtown was a dreary, hurricane battered place, but active with fishermen unloading their catches and various ferry boats. We fueled and iced up and headed out, intending to anchor in the Hawksbill cays, but there were no attractive beaches. With more time available, I would have headed south in the Abacos. We saw several other cruising boats slogging to windward under power so with SE winds of 15-20 we decided to sail downwind to Great Sale Cay, about 28 miles. This was the longest pure sail of the trip. While underway we deployed the trolling lines, put up the bimini top, and enjoyed the sail over sparkling, azure blue water. We felt like we were on a highway of sorts, as all traffic rounds Great and Little Sale Cays before heading southeast into the Abacos. Several sail and powerboats passed close, with friendly waves.
Suddenly one of the reels started singing. Fish on ! Furling the jib, luffing up, dropping the bimini, and winding in the fish, finding the bucket and hauling it aboard diverted our attention from the shoaling waters and we almost sailed onto a sandbar. Regaining out bearings and again back in deeper water, I took a GPS fix and charted a safe course to Little Sale Cay, arriving and anchoring in the lee of Great Sale Cay about 4pm. There was time to wade ashore for a beach walk and then clean the fish (a Kingfish or possibly a Mackerel) and cook it for dinner, with buttered sweet potatoes drizzled with coconut rum and fried onions and tomatoes. What a feast! We tied the carcass alongside and never felt the shark that took the entire thing during the night.
Day 9 – Up and out by 7am, it was calmer, so with full fuel tanks we motored the 23 miles to Mangrove Cay II, the turning point for the entrance to the Grand Lucayan Canal, another 17 miles distant. At that point the broad reach would have yielded a boat speed of about 3 kts under sail, so we continued to motor at 14kts and, of course, overshot the entrance by a mile or two. Not bothering with a GPS waypoint for the canal entrance was a mistake, but not a costly one. The canal was newly dredged and marked and had 5’ at mid tide. We pulled into a side canal, tied to a convenient tree, and enjoyed a refreshing sun shower in the cockpit. The canal was a pleasant change from the vastness of the ocean. Mark Svenson and I passed through ten years earlier, and little had changed. There were a few more houses, but lot development is still no more than 5%. Sailing buddy Fritz Wray owns a lot here somewhere, purchased in the 60’s.
Near the south end we saw the film crew for the “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie with more of the pirate ships, including the “death ship” and several partial decks mounted on barges. They did not appear to welcome star-struck gawkers, so we passed by and out onto the ocean again. It was a little lumpy, especially compared to the canal, and we were glad to regain the sanctuary of Port Lucaya. Soon we were happily back in the hot tub. Dinner plans were almost short –circuited by an untimely power outage. We had a drink at Rumrunner’s bar and chatted with other yachties until the power came back on. We weren’t worried, there was no shortage of fish aboard A-1 Express. With the forecast for deteriorating weather it looked like tomorrow would be the best time to cross the Gulfstream for a few days, so we turned in after dinner, anticipating an early departure.
Day 10 – Up at 4am and on the ocean at 5am, we motored west, passing several boats which were slowly approaching Port Lucaya, and later several ships near Freeport’s commercial harbor. As the sky began to lighten, I increased speed and we hurried towards our destination, gradually putting all signs of Grand Bahama behind us. The NE wind against the stream built the waves into lumps, abaft the beam, and soon we were skittering down, twisting and turning, fighting the wheel for control. By 8am Joyce found it a bit much so we stopped and filled the ballast tank, then hoisted full sail. It’s always fun to sail a bit, even though the reality is the slower speed adds too much to the crossing time. Who wants to get in after dark? Even the US coast appears less friendly after dark, so we motorsailed, a good compromise, making 7-8kts, more when surfing down waves. We took turns steering in 1 hour shifts. As it got gradually rougher Joyce began to tire so I took the last 3 hours, homing in on the GPS coordinates of Lake Worth inlet, arriving back at our launch point about 4pm. 78 miles in 11 hours, across a lumpy sea, for an average of 7 kts in a lightweight trailerable boat, was not bad. The Macgregor 65 would not have made better time in the same conditions. We were glad to be back across, and looking forward to a couple days on the Florida waterways.
With some relief we found the van and trailer intact, but when the van failed to start due to a totally dead battery it took the efforts of a friendly local fisherman and a jump start to get it going. The culprit was a reading lamp over the passenger seat had been left on. Oops!, said Joyce. We charged it up by driving to our favorite restaurant, The Holiday House, for a sumptuous buffet feast to celebrate our safe trip. We could have stayed tied to the pier but we had an experience a few years ago when the wind shifted and the boat began to bump the dock in the middle of the night, so we elect to anchor out whenever possible. We had not counted on the wakes from passing boats far out on the ICW, however, and had to set the 2nd anchor to keep the stern into the wakes.
Day 11 – We awoke early, due to needing a reset of the biological clocks, and headed over to newly restored “Peanut Island”, which lies in the middle of the harbor. The park service has done a remarkable job, with new walkways, a snorkeling lagoon, manicured beaches and a day use marina where we tied up. Very restful. At noon we motored over to the Tiki bar at nearby Riviera Beach marina, for a great fish sandwich. The weather report was for severe thunderstorms and rain in the afternoon, so it was back to the ramp and out for A-1 Express. The versatile powersailor had done its job again, with a mid-winter break in the Bahamas accomplished in comfort and safety. We headed back up I95 about 3pm and continued late into the night, with a few hours rest aboard in another friendly parking lot.
Day 12 – Drove up past Savannah and stopped to visit some friends who have retired to “Sun City”, and to watch the last playoff games before the Super Bowl. We spent a relaxing day touring the area and the amenities of the resort community. Annapolis will take another 12 hours on I95, for a total of about 2200 miles of trailering and about 400 miles of ocean cruising in 14 days, an adventure only a trailersailor can have. Soon we will be back in Maryland, but we will have the memories forever.
--Cheers and happy sailing from Capt Jim and first mate Joyce!
Monday, September 5, 2005
Canada or Bust
August 8, 2005
“Sea Chant” lay in readiness for departure following a morning fishing trip with brother-in-law, Jerry, visiting for a Lusby family reunion. Fish were frozen, and Captain Jim passed a calm night at Casa Rio Marina enjoying air conditioning. The goal is to head far enough north that air conditioning isn’t needed: Canada!
Tuesday the 9th dawned to gentle rain. The Naval Academy in Annapolis cancelled the 1812 Overture Concert so Captain after completing his preparations at the mooring on Half Moon Bay began trolling his way north to Rock Hall. At last a Rockfish was on the line, but alas it was only 14”, not a keeper. Captain anchored for the night in Chesapeake City at the mouth of the C & D Canal, and grilled his perch and spot for a delicious meal.
Wednesday the 10th Captain was underway at his customary 5:50 in the morning, and made good time on the Delaware River running with the tide with a top speed of 10.8 knots. By 1:00 Jim was at the canal, and out to the ocean. The stay at Donald Trumps’s Marina set the Captain’s budget back. The overnight slip was $102 and the fuel was $250.
Thursday the 11th’s departure was at 6:30 with calm seas on the way to New York City. Jubilation! Captain caught an 8 lb 30” Bluefish that he tucked away in the cooler while he spent the night at Liberty Landing Marina by the Statue of Liberty.
Friday’s departure was challenged by the bad current in the East River prompting Captain to take a scenic detour up Newtown Creek. Alas, the current was still waiting for him after he cooled his heels in the creek, and the creek was entirely given over to the grittiest industries of the city. It was a 5-7 knot slog up the river to Manhasset Bay. Jim dropped $210 into the fuel tank, $2.99 per gallon. Ouch. No dock fees tonight. Captain picked up a mooring near Iemanja, then moved aboard, Bluefish and all. Visions of a fish fry were dashed for that evening when the onboard captain, Jeff, was conked on the bean when an unsecured hatch nailed him on the head. It was off to the hospital for Jeff, and back into the fridge for fish.
Saturday the 13th was a workday aboard “Sea Chant” attending to filters and pumps. In the evening Captain Jim and Captain Jeff, reasonably recovered, dispatched the Bluefish in fine style aboard Iemanja. Plans are crystallizing for First Mate Joyce to come aboard “Sea Chant” on Sunday. Time to hustle.
Sunday dawned to more hot, hazy, humid weather and another up river run against the current. Captain’s rendezvous point with Max and Sally Groves with whom Joyce has hitched a ride is 58 miles away past West Point, the Palisades and Highlands to the tiny town of Newburgh, Mile H-53. Whew! Captain made it in time to treat our drivers to lunch at Pamela’s Restaurant. The River is wide here and passing boaters kick up quite a wake. No sooner had we finished lunch than the Captain was casting off for a fast run, with the current for a change, to our overnight tie up at the city dock in Kingston on Rondout Creek, Mile H-79. We were nestled in our slip before the evening thunderstorm hit. Jim took in the shore side Latino Festival while Joyce crashed.
No one would have believed how late I slept on Monday the 15th: 11:30. Is that transdermal Scopalomine patch a soporific? The Kingston waterfront beckoned us to launch our land dinghies, the two bicycles Captain brought onboard and get the flavor of this popular cruising destination, including a local maritime museum. Tempting as it was to stay, there be towns to the North for Captain to explore. We made the modest run to Esopus Creek at Mile H-88 to overnight on the hook in the town of Saugerties. Since there are no commercial fishermen living in these little creeks the only sounds to intrude (once the drummer finished practice) on our slumbers are the whistles of passing trains along the shoreline. We slept like babies.
We were underway early on Tuesday the 16th and put into the next Creek, Catskill, for our morning bicycle ride in the town of, what else, Catskill at Mile H-97! Each of the towns we toured bear evidence of decline, and all show signs of revitalization. Empty storefronts in the canal side towns runs at about 1/3. No loitering signs tell the rest of the tale. But since the canals have been removed from the Transportation Department to a separate Canal Authority old store fronts are being restored to their original style. Tourism and attracting retirees to own Hudson River vacation homes is the new goal. Up and down the canal system the towns will be as quaint as Annapolis. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds as we wend our way to Troy at Mile H-130. The rapids beyond make this the farthest navigable port on the Hudson. We dodged brief rain showers to take in the bright lights of Troy, and passed a comfortable night tied along the municipal wall with access to electricity and water.
The Hudson Travelers
The Champlain Canal, Wednesday August 17
Of the five boats along the wall at Troy “Sea Chant” was the first to be underway at 6:30 AM heading north. The nearby town of Waterford is a pivotal point in the 800 mile New York Barge Canal System. A sign advises boaters who bear left that they will ascend a flight of 5 closely spaced locks with a combined lift of 169 feet to enter the East-West 341 mile long Erie Canal. “Sea Chant” perseveres past this junction to pursue the 62.5 mile Champlain Canal entering Lock 1 at Mile CC 5.4. Our early start made for relatively fast locking: no time lost waiting while each vessel in turn secured themselves to the pipes or hanging lines from the lock walls. A two day canal pass is a modest $15.00.
Shore leave came early at Mile CC 11 where we stopped to ride our bikes around the town of Mechanicville, beside Lock 2. Later while we waited to exit the lock Captain deployed the awnings over the flying bridge. “That looks like a low bridge up ahead captain,” said First Mate, and the lock master also expressed concern about the 15.5’ clearance. We crept beneath it with scant inches to spare. The next low bridge caused our antenna to twang, and Captain lowered it for the duration. Even lower bridges crossed the original Erie Canal. One crewman was detailed to keep watch forward and sing out to the deck passengers, “everybody down” to keep them from being swept overboard.
Our skies today were blue, the air, crisp. Thick white cumulus clouds formed but shed no rain. The mirror surface of these non-tidal waters capture the bucolic scenes of tree lined banks in sharp detail. We continued up locking all day through Lock C-6 at Mile CC 32 about 7 miles from the town of Fort Edward. We thought about “Maggie’s Farm” racing in Galesville without us. But we were treated to freshly made strawberry shortcake and a band concert in the waterfront park where “Sea Chant” is enjoying the hospitality of the town: free tie-up and electricity.
Thursday, August 18 dawned at 60 degrees with Captain and First Mate scrambling to find long pants and shirts. Maryland’s humid weather had been here before we came, and could return, but for now we are lulled into wondering why we thought we needed to head to Canada for relief from the heat. Overhead, mackerel skies and feathery high clouds called mare’s tails remind us of the sailor’s ditty marking a weather pattern change: Mackerel skies and mares’s tails make tall ships wear short sails. Locks 7 and 8 marked the end of our uplocking to cross the Adirondack Mountains. Locks 9 to 12 gradually lowered us to the level of Lake Champlain. Curiously, there is no Lock 10. There had been one initially but it was determined that it was unnecessary, and so has been removed. We lingered in the Town of Whitehall at lunch time to bicycle into the hills to tour Skene Manor, an imposing Victorian mansion being restored by the town of Whitehall. We biked over a former car bridge that has been transformed into a theater. Imagine going to a play in a building suspended over a waterway. Our meal at the Finch & Chubb Restaurant lived up to its fame. The building itself had been an armory in the war of 1812. Benedict Arnold commissioned a fleet of small sailing craft to be build here to challenge an expected British attack for control of Lake Champlain. While the victory went to the British, and Arnold’s fleet was scuttled to prevent their falling into enemy hands the delay this skirmish entailed forced the British to retire to the safety of Canada until the following season. The revolutionaries had all winter to fortify themselves for the attack at Saratoga, the first American victory, and the battle that brought the French in on our side. Arnold was disillusioned by the lack of respect he felt his efforts were worth, and the rest is history. The town of Whitehall pronounces itself, The Birthplace of the U. S. Navy.
Later, an 18 year old fisherman named Buell made his mark on fishing. To his dismay a silver spoon from his picnic hamper fell overboard. He was intrigued to see a large fish seize the spoon and swim off. Buell welded a fishing hook to another silver spoon and began reeling in fish much larger than those landed by his counterparts using live bait. Thus the spoon lure industry was born here in Whitehall. Other innovations were inspired by the requirements of moving freight from deep water rivers and lakes into relatively shallow canals. The centerboard was invented for canal travel as was the traveler for quick sail handling. After taking on 100 gallons of fuel we exited through Lock 12 into Lake Champlain which initially more closely resembles a narrow river.
Governor Clinton’s Ditch as the Erie Canal was known laid the foundation for New York City to become the nation’s premier port, and to open up the mid-west to settlement. The Erie Canal runs the full width of the state and ties into both Lake Erie and Lake Ontario on its western and eastern sides. Midway a spur to the south links Lakes Cayuga and Seneca into the system. Lake Champlain at right angles to the Erie at its Eastern terminus heads north into Canada’s Quebec Province. To this day 77% of New Yorkers live with 2 miles of a canal, and 87% live within 20 miles: it is where all the cities grew.
After exiting the Champlain Canal we found an anchorage beside Fort Ticonderoga. Jim enjoyed the waters warm enough for swimming, and “Sea Chant” basked in the full moon awaiting new adventures on the Lake.
The Canal Couple
Lake Champlain, Thursday August 18
Lake Champlain formed from a deep fissure when geologic forces caused the earth to buckle and fill with sea water. When the ice age arrived it was covered by glaciers which filled the lake with fresh water as they melted. Initially the lake drained southward into the Hudson until uplifting of the Adirondacks sealed that opening and creating the lake. The Chambly Canal links the north end of the lake with the Riviere Richelieu at Rouses Point 110 miles north of Whitehall.
The lower 22 miles seems like a river with both banks of the lake as close as they were in the canals narrowing at one point between rock palisades to .1 mile wide. Aside from fishermen and the solitary house nestled in the tree covered steep banks it seems little changed since its discovery in 1609 by Samuel Champlain. A passing Amtrack train sounding its soulful whistle brings us abruptly back to the 21st century. We dropped our hook for the night just offshore from the rebuilt Ft. Ticonderoga.
Friday, August 19th dawned to overcast skies and mild temperatures. The delivery skipper was underway at 6 AM when the lake is at it calmest. We pulled into Port Henry mid-morning for a hike into town for groceries, and to take in the lake view from the surrounding hills. The boundary for the states of New York and Vermont lies in the middle of Lake Champlain. The lake continues to widen gradually as we push northward, and the enveloping mists shroud both the Adirondacks to our west and Vermont’s Green Mountains to the east in a blue haze. The serrated rows of peaks look like a painted scenery backdrop for a play. Next stop was Westport, an old style resort community with Victorian era homes nestled along quite streets. No less than three liveried dock attendants assisted our arrival. The winds have been picking up all day, and we ducked into the appendix like Shelburne Bay on the eastern shore. The bright lights of Burlington, Vermont are visible to our north. It is the largest city on the lake. Throughout the night we can hear the wind building as a front moves through. Our sailors adage of mare’s tails was prophetic.
As usual Captain arose at 6 AM to test the lake’s waters. The other sailors waved us cheerfully on our way: they weren’t budging from their snug anchorage. Shelburn Bay is located at the lake’s widest point, 12 miles across. Our guidebook advises, “Several days of a good blow can produce waves averaging 4 ft or more in height in the summer and approaching 8 ft in the fall.” Ours was only an overnight blow, but it persisted well into the morning. First Mate noted that unlike the Captain’s helm seat which is bolted to the floor hers is secured by a mere bungee cord. “Sea Chant” lurched wildly from side to side impacted by steady winds and building seas. Captain sought the protection of Valcour Island where we dallied over a breakfast of toast and eggs instead of our customary cereal taken underway.
Valcour Island has served the American cause in both wars against the British. Benedict Arnold arrayed his fleet of 15 vessels anchored in a line from Valcour to the western shore. Most of his craft resembled daysailors challenging the 180 ton British ships which had been disassembled on the Richeleau, portaged past what is now the Chambly Canal, and re-assembled on the Lake intent on seizing Fort Ticonderoga. Outgunned, Arnold was forced to retreat, and when overtaken by the pursuing British, to scuttle his fleet. Nonetheless, the British gave up their plans to attack the fort, and retired back to Canada.
At Valcour Island Lake Champlain splits into two branches. The lake on the Vermont side dead ends, and is therefore strictly a cruising ground. Fortified by breakfast Captain determined to put in to port at Plattsburg, NY 88 miles from our entry into the lake. Docking our single engine bow thruster-less vessel under windy conditions put Captain and Crew to the test, but we succeeded, and decided to call it quits for the day. Plattsburg is the second largest city on the lake with plenty to see shore-side. Our overnight slip is three boats away from the restaurant which will host a live band this evening, and is the destination Sunday of a motorcycle club hundreds strong. It won’t be dull around here!
The town has erected a tall eagle topped obelisk honoring the naval defeat of the British by Commodore Macdonough in the 1814 Battle of Plattsburg,, one of the battles that helped end the war. Like Arnold before him the Commodore deployed his fleet in the sheltering veil of Valcour Island. Ten thousand British were heading south awaiting support of their fleet. In a 2.5 hour battle the British fleet was defeated, and surrendered to the Americans. With that, the British army marched back to Canada. Likewise we are marching towards Canada Sunday the 21st.
The fresh-water Mariners
Quebec, Sunday August 21
Bonjour. Plattsburgh did its best to keep us in its thrall: a rock ‘n roll concert in town, a live band after our dinner at the marina’s restaurant, The Naked Turtle, and the promise of hundreds upon hundreds of motorcycles heading into town completing a charitable run. But Captain saw becalmed seas and lit out for a run to the border after breakfast at an internet café, The Coffee Cat.
As we bid adieu to Lake Champlain the winds were picking up as a cold front swept through Rouses Point, the last city on the US border. “Sea Chant” pressed on for the refuge of the Richelieu River which empties Lake Champlain. Canada maintains a custom’s dock just over the line for a casual check-in.
Of course, our relationship has not always been as cordial. Following the War of 1812 Ft. Montgomery was erected to guard our territorial rights. It was nicknamed “Ft Blunder” when the completed fort was surveyed—and found to be on the Canadian side. Back to the drawing board, and the completion of another fort.
We passed a pleasant afternoon traveling past marshy shores and farmland 22 miles to the town of St. Jean where we tied up along the sea wall for the night. Our progress was halted here by the beginning of another canal system, The Chambly, that overcomes the rapids of the Richelieu.
We enjoyed our stroll up to the first lock, and past all the stores whose signs are strictly in French. “What are crevettes?” asked Jim as we approached the Bleu Marlin marina restaurant. Aha! A picture on the banner provided the answer. The marina was having a shrimp feast, and we mustered enough savvy to place two orders that were heavenly.
While lounging back aboard “Sea Chant” Jim excitedly called First Mate to join him on the upper deck. It was the conclusion of an international hot air balloon festival, the second largest next to one hosted by Albuquerque, NM. Some 55 balloons drifted past, many descending low over the river, and a few landing on the grassy bank across from the restaurant. Never before have we seen balloons in other than the traditional shape. But scattered here among the merely colorful were balloons shaped like the devil complete with horns and tail, a rubbery duckie, two bumble bees, a barn with silo, farmer and farm animals peeking from barn doors, a toadstool with pixies, a beagle dog, a frog and a beaver. Clear blue skies showed them off to a-tee for the delighted crowds along the river walk.
Monday, August 22, our start was delayed until 9 AM when the bridge across the canal was rolled out of our way, and we entered Lock 9 of The Chambly Canal. In deference to the purchase of canal passes this one is electrically operated. All of the remaining locks are manually controlled. Unlike the US canals that were rebuilt to accommodate the increasing size of vessels, once this French Canal was completed it remained unchanged. It is rather narrow with rock lined banks to reduce erosion, and Captain had to maintain strict vigilance holding “Sea Chant” exactly in the center as the canal meandered along. The Canal is 10 miles long, but the locks are concentrated in a 1.5 mile stretch with the final 3 locks forming a continuous tier until discharging into the Chambly Basin. The bridge and lock keepers were very prompt in serving us, and bicyclists along the former tow path enjoyed watching the procedure. The locks were really only big enough for one vessel at a time. Each lock tender used a large winch handle to crank his lock door shut. Then each cranked up the floodgate on his side, and when the descent was completed, each cranked open his gate on the lower side of the lock.
Captain and “Sea Chant” took a well deserved rest upon reaching the basin to tour Ft. Chambly which in turn served the French, the British, and briefly the Americans in an unsuccessful bid to conquer Canada. Lunch was at the nearby Fourquet Fourchette Restaurant which offers French colonial food and drink. Thus fortified, “Sea Chant” plied her way along the lower Richelieu until dropping anchor between two mid-stream islands.
Early Tuesday morning on the 23rd we put ashore at the town dock of St-Antoine-sur-Richelieu at River Mile 17.8 to enjoy the provincial town’s unique style. Each home was a castle lovingly trimmed with filigree wood working on shutters, porch railings and trim boards, and even steps. Flowers are at their peak and abound in hanging baskets, planters and beds. Homes are clustered close to the river banks on both sides reflecting the early land distribution. Since the river was the only means of transport initially each family was deeded a parcel, with a narrow access to the shore, that ran very deeply inland for farming. Indeed the Richelieu has been called the world’s longest village. With our bikes stowed back aboard we continued downstream to the last lock on the river at mile 12, the St-Ours Lock (pronounced ‘ers.) In contrast to its quaint predecessors this lock is 300’ long with a floating dock to which we were secured: to bow and stern lines to tend on our descent. This was the last lock to be modernized before commerce bypassed water transit leaving the other Chambly locks in their original state.
The final leg of the Richelieu terminates in the industrial and gritty port of Sorel with a fire belching foundary filling the sky with billowing clouds. Goodbye Richelieu. Hello St. Lawrence.
Les Deux Amies
Saint Lawrence River, Tuesday August 23
Not since his first day on the Hudson has the Captain been confronted by unfavorable current. After First Mate Joyce joined “Sea Chant” we fell in with a favorable tide, and once in the Champlain system all of the flow has been to the north where the Richelieu aided us with a half knot bonus until finally joining the St. Lawrence.
We are not following that seaway to the Atlantic, but rather pursuing its course upstream to Montreal with a noticeable 1 knot current against our headway. Fortunately three rivers also empty into the St. Lawrence in close proximity and have divided the river into separate channels by their accumulated silt deposits. We pursued the Chenal Sud stopping at River Mile 23 at the town of Contrecoeur for an afternoon ramble. We enjoyed the older homes, although the town itself was more modest and practical in its architecture, and toured its historic center where two women were busy plying looms.
Continuing on we put in for the night at the town pier at River Mile 5 in the town of Boucherville across from a marshy shore and a river island supporting a corn farm. The town had Arthur Murry style feet painted on the sidewalk to guide tourists past the most stately homes. A baronial estate is on the market for $9 million. We found a restaurant that advertised “maison cuisine”, or home cooking, a favorite of the local workers, and just right for us boaters. Returning to “Sea Chant” an earnest resident hearing us speak English struck up a conversation about his budding career in heavy metal music. We passed a pleasant evening with him as our guest aboard, and have his signed demo cd as a souvenir.
On Wednesday the 24th “Sea Chant” emerged from her sheltering side channel into the full flood of the St. Lawrence as we headed into Montreal, the second largest French speaking city in the world. The current flowing past a channel marker made it look like a rock in a rapid where the flow of the St. Lawrence is joined by the Ottawa River with a combined strength of 5 knots in the center. “Sea Chant” quickly dove for the sheltering shore where the back swirling flow plunged us ahead into the harbor at over 9 knots. “Sea Chant” will lie pampered in the port of Vieux Montreal while Captain fortifies her with fresh charts of the Ottawa River, our next pursuit, and an oil and filter change.
The highlight of our morning sortie by bicyclette was a tour of the Chateau Ramezay Museum and Governor’s Garden. The governor’s home had the latest in 18th century technology including a dog powered spit turner for his hearth: a round basket fitted to a turnstile located near the ceiling relied upon a restless pooch pent up within to keep his nibs roast from searing. The city is bustling outdoors as the Canadians savor even the past few cool, overcast, and showery days before fall arrives in late September. We’ll return to the city tonight perhaps to dine in the restaurant named the Filles du Roy. It commemorates the 1000 French girls whose doweries were supplied by the King as inducement to emigrate and marry here, hence they were all called the king’s daughters, and are the ancestors of modern Quebec. We’ll take in the bright lights of the city’s special night illumination before heading off tomorrow into the Ottawa River.
The St. Lawrence Duo
Au Revoir Montreal Thursday, August 25
Had “Sea Chant” been a runabout we could have traveled via the Lachine Canal from our marina but the 8’ bridge clearance meant we had to follow the route of commercial vessels putting through the St. Lambert Lock, or Ecluse as they say here. A minimum of two crew must be aboard to transit, and a friendly boater traveling with another couple shared his wife with a solo sailor. Also, within the lock only two vessels handled lines. We were told to lock through tied to the other powerboat. Once through “Sea Chant” was kicking up her heels until we realized there was another lock the three of us would transit together. No need to rush: we would travel no faster than the 24’ Shark. It was our turn to be the line handlers through the St. Catherine Lock which opened onto the broad and shallow Lac St-Louis. It reminded me of the Keys in that you carefully threaded your way past submerged rocks (instead of coral), and sunlight glinted invitingly in all directions. Once across this lake we will enter the Ottawa River via the Canal at Sainte-Anne-De-Bellevue.
Terrace restaurants line the shore beside the lock at Ste. Anne, one of the most popular tourist destinations, particularly for boaters. It is a quick 3’ lift before exiting onto the Lac Des Deus Montagnes. Captain is settling into the cruiser mode now, and languished on a shady terrace enjoying Sangria, and eventually dinner before locking through to the Ottawa River, and a sunset cruise to our overnight anchorage near our next lock, about 45miles west of Montreal. Lock building on the Ottawa was spurred by the military and forestry. Logging and fur trading has given way to farming, and from the hint in the air I’d guess beef and dairy farming.
The Ottawa canals are a study in contrasts. From the smallest lift among our locks we tackled our largest on Friday morning, August 26. As transport by water gave way to rail and highway Hydro-Quebec created a new use for the river’s rapids: a dam was built to generate electricity. Beside the dam the deepest lock in Canada was constructed: a lift of 20 meters (about 65’). Water flow is controlled by a 200 ton guillotine gate. As “Sea Chant” was locking through the Public Television Station was filming a story on the operation. She cut a fine swath on this crisp, blue sky day, and we informed the interviewer that “Sea Chant” was a 1977 Mainship trawler, 34’x11’x3’, with a 200hp diesel engine, which cruises at 8 kts @3gph, a good thing when fuel is $5.00/gallon up here. We get about 3mpg, compared to the faster gas engined cruisers which get between ½ and 1mpg. About 900 of these boats were built between 1977 and 1987, and Mainship today is the number one trawler builder in the USA.
Travel on the river is endlessly entertaining. Both shores are easily viewed, and binoculars allow closer scrutiny. Farms, trees and fishing boats give way to riverside houses, campgrounds, and new mansions the farther up river we go. The surest sign of a town ahead is the glint of the silver church spire. Older towns have a church of gothic stone topped with a silvery roof, and a steeple sometimes in 3 layers all in silver color: a base, an open belfry, and a steep coned pinnacle with a cross on top. They are marked on our charts as well in lieu of lighthouses.
All in all. “Sea Chant” has proved an enduring enchantress. One of the oldest vessels plying the waterways, she faithfully starts and plugs away all day without complaint. Captain and crew much prefer her upper steering station specially fitted with a new seat for First Mate and shaded by dual Biminis. It has a quaint auto helm control about 3 “ diameter. The merest nudge will send the bow aiming opposite to the turn (First Mate has a cheat sheet diagram to aid in obeying helm commands.) Her wheel, by contrast, requires vigorous efforts by Captain to redirect her bearing. On rainy days Captain steers from her main cabin while First Mate looks on from her twin helm seat on the port side. There is ample room to walk on the outside to deploy fenders and fasten lines when we dock. Stove, fridge, hot shower, 12 volt TV for on board movies, and brand new screening for her lower level "porch” makes her a cozy cruiser ideal for these glassy waters. If it weren’t for the blandishments of shore we could stay cocooned aboard.
Montebello De Papineauville is a destination not to be missed. Papinveau was the original land grantee and 5 generations lived there until it was sold to the Canadian railroad in 1930 for use as a sportsmans club. The original manor hose not having enough rooms, the “sportsmen” built a 204 room log cabin style edifice, which was sold to a hotel chain in 1971. The whole place is a staggering 65000 acres. “Sea Chant” nestled into a slip while crew headed for the outdoor pool. Lodging is in the world’s largest log cabin. It is laid out in a huge X pattern with a central hall featuring a six-faced massive fireplace. The yacht basin is earmarked for ice fishing in winter. The year round resort features a tunnel to the indoor pool, horseback riding, golf, and a host of other sports. It is a 5 star cuisine and accommodations resort in a rustic setting. We topped off our day by strolling from the pool to the outdoor bar-be-que of trout, steak, chicken, shrimp, veal, and sausages cooked by the chefs while you watched with superb side dishes. A saxaphonist provided a smokey jazz ambience. We’ll explore the rest of the resort in the morning when we recover from dinner.
The Mellow Montebellos
P.S. Try www.ballooncanada.com for more about the aerial show we enjoyed at St. Jean-sur-Richelieu. If we dally in Ottawa until Sept 2 we can see them again.
Bon Jour, Hello Ottawa, Saturday August 27
Marshes indented by fingers of water gave way to towering granite cliffs on the left shore studded with unbelievable mansions, embassy row, when we completed our up-river pursuit of the Ottawa River. The 80’ falls described by Samuel Champlain as curtains (Rideau) were overcome in 1832 when English engineer, John By, constructed a flight of 8 locks transited in a continuous series. The manual gates are drawn aside by chain around a drum. All eyes were on “Sea Chant” as she made her solo ascent at 6 PM, ushered into the heart of this capital city like a queen. The flukey water whorls and gusty breezes kept Captain and Mate on their toes minding the fore and aft lines looped behind cables attached along the walls. The later locks are filled to overflowing requiring two sets of fenders: a high set to cushion our contact while ascending against the walls, and the other at the water line to prevent scuffs when we rest at the level of the sidewalk.
The War of 1812 was the impetus for the Rideau Canal construction. Since the St. Lawrence forms part of our common boundary it was deemed imperative to have an alternative link to Kingston at the headwaters of the St. Lawrence on Lake Ontario as a means of supplying Montreal. The area defined by the seaway and Rideau Canal resembles a piece of pie. The Irish and Scotch workers who built the canal settled at their work site, Bytown. Their ancestral accents are discernible in the accents of lock tenders and bar keeps today.
Bytown was selected as the national capital, a location at a safe distance from the American border, and at the junction of the bilingual country. The Indian word for trade furnished the formal name of the city: Ottawa. Champlain did more than map new areas for France. He made an incredible 22 trans-Atlantic crossings to press for support of New France.
The Rideau Canal was built with two stone buildings on opposite shores. The Royal Engineers Office on the eastern side became a private residence in 1868. The coming of the railroad in 1901 made this into the house of song, “The Railroad Runs Through The Middle of the House” when the rear of the structure had the railway terrace pass through it. Alas, vibrations forced the demolition of the house 10 years later.
In winter after the locks cease operation the Rideau takes on a whole new aspect. The water level in the locks is lowered to a minimum. When it freezes the canal and Rideau for the next 80 miles becomes the world’s longest skating rink. By boring through the ice to the river flow below and pumping this freshly to the surface each night the surface is kept smooth. Residents can commute to work like Hans Brinker!
We tied up for the night along the concrete walls a half mile for our flight of 8 locks to enjoy the heart of the city at night.
Sunday, August 28 our bicycles were launched to enjoy the streets blocked off each summer Sunday for pedestrians and all forms of wheeled use. Promptly at 10 we reached the grounds in front of the 3 gothic style houses of parliament where the Royal Canadian Band and ceremonial marching troops strutted their stuff in this end of season ceremony. They all sport the bushy tall hats and red uniforms we associated with Buckingham Palace. Parking our bikes we hopped aboard a double decker bus which took us on a wide tour of the city with stops for tourists wishing to linger at the numerous museums and points of interest. We stayed aboard, and learned of two major events awaiting our return to the parliament lawn.
No sooner had Jim gotten his sausage dog from a vendor on the corner than the Canadian Gay Pride Parade got underway. They were rallying at city hall with a “Kiss-in”, but we headed off when the last float passed by to try an authentic treat: a BeaverTail, or in French , Queues de Castor. North American explorers stretched pastry into an oblong shape and cooked it floating on oil. Topped with cinnamon, maple or apple they take their name from the furry animal they sought.
It is back to “Sea Chant” where we cast off to wend our way another ½ mile up the canal where we again tied up along the wall by the CFL stadium at Lansdowne Park for this evening’s Mick Jagger concert. Forty years ago they were booked at the Ottawa YMCA. Tonight some seats inside the stadium commanded $1000 each. Seated aboard “Sea Chant’s” enchanted upper deck we will sit in comfort and hear it all. With a bit of rubber necking we’ll even be able to see the visuals. With the afternoon to loll away the bicycles were deployed to enjoy the numerous flower plantings on this beautified waterway. In gratitude for hospitality during WWII of their pregnant queen the Dutch supervise the planting of 1 million tulips here each year. The beds are now a dazzling sea of annuals in elegant arrangement. Waterside bike paths line both shores, and we’ll sally forth for dinner before indulging in a thrill we missed in our teens: attending a Stones Concert. Ta-ta. That’s Mick’s limo entering now.
The Stones Fans
PS We are now in the town of Merricksville about 2 days from the canal end where we can stop as Katrina’s rain moves inland.
RIDEaU Monday August 29
How appropriate for this staunchly bilingual country that the name Rideau is a pun, with the Giant’s Staircase ascending to Parliament Hill, and wending its way through an ever varying landscape of city, posh riverside homes, historic towns, narrow canals and broad vistas of marsh grass and wildlife. The French word means curtain, the appearance of the veil of falls of the tributary Rideau River cascading today as it did when Samuel Champlain named it. It was built in anticipation of an American invasion. And we are here obeying the bilingual mandate: ride eau (water).
For 173 years this waterway has drawn travelers to some of Canada’s oldest resorts along its shores. It is comprised of 31 locks lifting vessels on the Rideau River to a network of lakes, the highest of which is Newboro Lake, a 270’ ascent to 404’ above sea level, and from there descending through 14 locks on the Cataraqui River to Lake Ontario, a lowering of 162’. The original locks and canal cuts are powered today as they were when engineered by Lieutenant Colonel John By, “the muscle power of lock staff cranking the distinctive “crab” winches. At each lock Captain and First Mate keep a sharp lookout for our pair of lock tenders to mount the steps and begin turning the cylinder wrapped by chain which opens and later closes the lock doors. If a bridge crosses our way they must sprint ahead to crank and push the roadway aside over the lock bank. They mount the upper end of the lock to take a few turns on the crab winch there that partially opens either a sluice or a pair of Venetian blind valves in the gates that starts water flooding into the sealed chamber. As the water level rises more turns of the crab winches carefully matched by the tenders to insure an even current flow past our vessel tethered fore and aft to the port canal wall. Why the port? Captain is also traveling much as the early voyagers along the Rideau did: with one engine and a Joyce powered bow thruster: an extended boat hook firmly pressed against whatever firm surface offers itself at our heightened elevation. That done, Captain adds throttle and the engines torque nudges “Sea Chant’s” bow smartly to the right, and we are on our way once more.
The first 11 locks we traversed in Ottawa are all in hand dug and blasted lock-ways 5 miles before joining the Rideau River at Hogs Back. The longest stretch, 39 kilometers between locks occurs south of Manotick en route to lock 17 at Burritts Rapids. Often the locks are in series of two or three to accommodate the lift required manned by human power. Only at 3 locks where commerce necessitated a heavier road than mustered muscle could move have electric motors been installed.
Captain and Mate alike were plenty tuckered Monday evening when we cleared through locks 21-23 at Merrickville. It had been a town of 50 souls farming and operating a lumber mill when the military construction project boosted the town’s status: they got a military base and flourished. Base is a relative term. Their fortification consisted of a moat-surrounded block-house, a fortified tower essentially standing vigil over the strategic locks. With growth in trade in mind the mid-lock of the series into Merrickville had an extra wide area on the town side. This allowed barges to off-load, turn around and return to Ottawa without impeding other vessels. Captain and Mate made a quick reconnoiter of the lovely stone buildings, took fresh stocks of grub aboard, then swaggered into a hospitable Irish pub that not only nourished our bodies but linked us via internet and CNN images of the world outside the 19th century. Merrickville is notorious for its trains: they sound their warning whistles approaching the town—all night long. With this in mind and darkness fast approaching Captain cast off the lines and hustled out to a serene anchorage in mirror calm waters. Alas, the tracks run along shore and sound carries fully over the water. We enjoyed each crossing through town along with the haunting call of a loon.
Tuesday, August 30th dawned over a scene too beguiling to quit in haste: Mate persuaded Captain to partake of a cooked breakfast rather than his trademark coffee “on the fly” with anchor hoisting competing with tucking in his shirt tail. Mate was treated to the luxury of languishing unperturbed on the upper deck while Captain tenderly tinkered with “Sea Chant’s” innards below the floors in the main salon. And a good thing, too. The alternator bracket had shed its nut, spacer and washer into the many-nooked bilge below. Diligent searching turned up the bushing, and Captain resourcefully supplied the missing metric nut from his indispensable 16-section trove tray of “wouldn’t hurt to have it” spare parts. Refreshed by a shower Captain was eager to be underway.
And what a magical day it was! Our scenery now is rustic, churches, alas, of the “low” theology prize simplicity. Gone are the wedding cake confections of spires that pierce the sky, the first harbinger of a town. These blunt steeples are solid, cross-less, and no higher than the surrounding trees. Our new silver beacons are the soaring silos. It is harvest season. Hay is in bales, and being trucked to market or stored in vast barns. Corn tassels bespeak a prodigious yield nigh its peak. Bass boaters flick their flies on waters where the marker numbers are seen mirrored in inverse below the surface as crisply as their twin above. Swimming piers with slides dot the riverfront 100 yards from the coast just past the lily pads and algae. Hershey Canada is our focus this morning. Factory seconds are to be had a short walk from Old Slys Lock (26 & 27). I’ll save you some. The lock takes its name from the settler whose home was flooded in the dam construction. The once discrete river became a flooded plain when a dam was built to supply water to the locks. A broad marshland formed, although in general, the flow of the entire system has reduced the propensity for malaria.
Fortified with a 1 3/4 kls sack of almond chocolate bar fragments, $5.00, we pressed on to the bright lights of Smiths Falls—only to bicycle back to the Heritage Farmhouse museum at Slys Lock. A Grist mill and wool mill were operated here year round courtesy of the unfrozen rapids. A Mr. Bates ran the mills, more profitable than his competitor Abel Ward’s seasonal mills. Ward was jealous but patient, and when Bates died Ward bought the mills from the widow and sewed up ownership of the commerce of the area. After our tour of the miller’s home, complete with the unique two-story attached outhouse, we returned to the 4 story Canal Museum in the city. We are now in Lower Rideau Lake enjoying shore power where we spent the night: at the gas dock of Rideau Ferry Harbor. With an early evening stop Captain was rewarded with Mate’s cuisine duly noted in his log as “nice.” Katrina’s light rains and spent fury arrived at midnight, and persuaded us to stay put till noon, recollect the recent day’s pleasures and read, Hemingway for Jim and Moby Dick for me. Gray skies gave way to a pink sunset, but not before we marveled at islets resembling Bonsai arrangements at full scale set in shimmering waters overlooked by houses tucked in among the trees on the shore bedrock. Cribs, wire blocks of stone lying just below the surface support markers all but hidden around unexpected corners.
From wending our way through narrow canals we progressed this afternoon to threading our way through channels too narrow for two boats to pass each other. Midway a wide area was designated as a “sound horn” zone. Backing out of an on comer’s way would be a tricky if not impossible task. At Newboro Lake our markers switch over from red on the right to red on the left signaling the start of our descent those 162’ in 14 locks to Lake Ontario. “Sea Chant” must be mindful not to scrape her bow overhanging a canal edge as the water starts to lower. The lock tenders lend a hand holding us off. No water turbulence now; water is draining as from a tub, and more smartly. Our final locks of the day, 39-42, were at Jones Falls. We waited an hour while another boat up-locked and then more water was accumulated in the top chamber to “flush us” as Captain puts it. We were tied up and ready for another 10 minutes when a New York boater heading home to Cayuga Lake joined us on the starboard edge. What a phenomenal flume ride that cascade of 4 locks would make if those early engineers hadn’t been limited to military plans. At Jones Falls the blockhouse and lock tender’s home were one. Located on a promontory it had gun slits in the walls. They saw duty in the Rebellion of 1837 when the Canadians tried unsuccessfully to throw off the Brits. The Canadians also managed to meld their French and British halves without recourse to Civil War.
It is more civilized here. You would love to a fall foliage cruise in late September. Waterway Getaway rents houseboats at Smiths Falls. Its not too late to book. Do join us. The Canadaclub.com advertises fractional ownerships in a lodge 3 miles from lock 35 in lake-country. Or head to Montebellow. A meeting of the heads of the industrialized world was booked here, and they know where to go. We are torn between our original goal of transiting the Trent-Severn Waterway linking Lake Ontario with Lake Superior, or returning on the Hudson for our fall foliage excursion. We’ll think about that tomorrow. Today it’s a sunrise departure from our overnight slip at Shangri-La Marina 6 miles to a bridge with 4’ clearance.
Captain scoured the bridge tender’s hut for signs of activity at 7 A.M. then consulted his guide book: Canal staff report at 8:30. We doubled back a mile to Seeleys Bay for breakfast where the locals gather: food and local color, and a chance to capture reflection photos, and buy a newspaper, “The Kingston Whig-Standard.” We drove along coastal Mississippi and New Orleans this past winter and saw communities staggered just by the debris of the previous year’s 2 harsh storms. The scale of New Orleans suffering exceeds comprehension.
We were advised that Katrina’s heavier rains that fell south of us loosened cattails from their banks that could foul our engine water cooling intakes. Our fellow locker from Cayuga Lake fell in right behind us as we departed Seeleys Bay, and we locked through the next 3 locks together. He took the lead through the marshy channels, and just as a car following along behind on a dirt road eats dust we were eating the weed his turbulence scudded our way. Jim stopped to clean his strainer.
We caught sight of Cayuga locking alone through the final flight of 4 canals leading to Kingston, with two boats below waiting to lock-up. We lay along the canal waiting dock 1 ½ hours while four 26’ boats and a 36’ Carver accumulated. We were previewing the lock, and following a guide in period costume through the block house as it would have been garrisoned in 1837, and the time passed pleasantly. The group locking was snug. We were on the port wall peering over the spillway with the Carver behind us. Two boats abreast were forward on the starboard wall, and the final two, single-file behind them. It all went smoothly, and the rewarding Rideau adventure concluded in Kingston, Canada’s original capital city.
At 2 PM Captain got a slip in Kingston Marina, and he and crew enjoyed shore leave in town. “Sea Chant” deserves kudos and a preventive maintenance respite.
“Sea Chant” is a game old girl, and is already excited about the Lake Ontario Chart Book Captain brought home to her today.
Riders of the RIDEaU
Oswego Saturday September 3
Friday was a day of rest for “Sea Chant” and lots of attention. She was treated to a new alternator, an impeller for the head, and a clean out of the water intake filter supplying water to the systems of the boat, the engine filter having been cleaned en route on the Rideau. After another night on the town it was early to bed for an early Saturday crossing of Lake Ontario.
Saturday we were effectively underway at 8 a.m., Captain delayed for the opening at the diesel pump. Had winds been less gusty at our arrival we would have fueled first. The recommended crossing of the lake which allows winds to fetch across its 100 mile length is to leave at 5 am and put in for the night at Main Duck Island. Once owned by John Foster Dulles it is now a Canadian owned wildlife sanctuary. It made a nice lunch break, but you know the Captain better than to believe mere gusty winds would dissuade him from heading out again after lunch. Mate Joyce prepared with a patch behind her ear, and away we went, and a rollicking ride it was! Winds averaged gusted between 17 and 22. Spray on our starboard side even washed over her upper deck and sluiced down the ladder to the screened transom porch, or fishing cockpit as the Captain deems it: no reading today. Mate chocked herself with pillows on the port settee, the low side, and Captain braced himself in his helm chair and elsewhere and steered snug and dry inside.
At 4 p.m. “Sea Chant” put in to the port of Oswego, a gritty shipping terminus, and no place for a lady to spend the night. Captain and Mate emerged from the cabin in the Oswego River’s calm and restored the chair, thick coil of yellow electric cable, and fiberglass boarding steps back to their accustomed place on starboard, and marveled at how clean the boat was. “Sea Chant” had enjoyed her fresh water boat wash courtesy of Lake Ontario, and took the 6’waves with flying colors.
The Oswego River has a series of 8 commercial locks. No more gentle influx of lifting waters in snug locks. We were locking where the big boys ride. We missed the wall cables around which a line could be led and cleated fore and aft to hold the boat against the wall. Canadian lock tenders keep their lock lines coiled on the bank to be lowered as a boat comes to rest against the chamber wall. One such set was bright yellow cascading down into a deep lock. “Repunzel, let down your golden hair,” thought Mate at that lock. The lines in the American locks remain against the mossy walls. Crew is expected to hold onto the slimy lines, and in the swirling current of the rapidly filling lock it needed a sturdy pull as water jetting against the walls pushed “Sea Chant” toward the middle.
“Sea Chant” locked steadily along, shedding her Canadian courtesy flag along the way: we are back in the USA. Between Locks 2 and 3 the town of Fulton offers meals and views in the Lock 3 Restaurant, and a yacht basin with free electricity for overnight canalers who can stay for 2 days. We opted for the canal wall instead, and dinner at 7. We are only ½ mile from the final lock, and can be underway at 7 am. Locks close 10 P.M. to accommodate the dwindling barge traffic. “Full ton,” once rang out as passing coal barges advertised their wares, giving Fulton its name. Both the decline in river traffic, and interstate highways bypassing town is causing the demise of this and other canal side settlements.
Sunday, the 4th after locking through at 8 A.M. our cruise along the Oswego River was relaxing in its broad expanse: no rocky shore shoals or tricky steering. Passing the town of Phoenix at OS River Mile 2 Captain put in for shore leave. The Phoenix “Bridge Brats” are known world-wide. Volunteers manage a cadre of teens who will bike to any store in town with a mariner’s shopping list. Great for the boaters, and great for the kids. They have a deluxe shore side town dock to tempt travelers into spending at this dying town. A local marina sponsors a Christmas Parade of Lights to be held this year September 16, 17 and 18, before the canal freezes.
Heading upstream boater’s advised us that the 5” of Katrina’s rains had flushed all the pond scum out into the rivers. The weight of the floating mats dragged several markers downstream, and has covered the river with the growth normally in calm coves. Proceeding with caution Captain piloted us along from our upper deck in the morning’s sunshine passing the juncture of 3 rivers: Oswego, Seneca, and Oneida. We headed right into the Oneida through locks of the Erie Canal. Arriving at the town of Brewerton “Sea Chant” spied the EsKay Marina where she will await us for a month until our return.
It is a short drive from here to Syracuse Airport to pick up a rental car. It will be Fall Foliage on the Hudson when we return. How could we take “Sea Chant” west on the Trent-Severn Waterway and leave her forlorn all winter on Lake Superior? There be fish to be caught this fall and next Spring in Mayo, Rockfish for sure next Spring, and “Sea Chant” wouldn’t miss that for the world.
The Homeward Bound
“Sea Chant” lay in readiness for departure following a morning fishing trip with brother-in-law, Jerry, visiting for a Lusby family reunion. Fish were frozen, and Captain Jim passed a calm night at Casa Rio Marina enjoying air conditioning. The goal is to head far enough north that air conditioning isn’t needed: Canada!
Tuesday the 9th dawned to gentle rain. The Naval Academy in Annapolis cancelled the 1812 Overture Concert so Captain after completing his preparations at the mooring on Half Moon Bay began trolling his way north to Rock Hall. At last a Rockfish was on the line, but alas it was only 14”, not a keeper. Captain anchored for the night in Chesapeake City at the mouth of the C & D Canal, and grilled his perch and spot for a delicious meal.
Wednesday the 10th Captain was underway at his customary 5:50 in the morning, and made good time on the Delaware River running with the tide with a top speed of 10.8 knots. By 1:00 Jim was at the canal, and out to the ocean. The stay at Donald Trumps’s Marina set the Captain’s budget back. The overnight slip was $102 and the fuel was $250.
Thursday the 11th’s departure was at 6:30 with calm seas on the way to New York City. Jubilation! Captain caught an 8 lb 30” Bluefish that he tucked away in the cooler while he spent the night at Liberty Landing Marina by the Statue of Liberty.
Friday’s departure was challenged by the bad current in the East River prompting Captain to take a scenic detour up Newtown Creek. Alas, the current was still waiting for him after he cooled his heels in the creek, and the creek was entirely given over to the grittiest industries of the city. It was a 5-7 knot slog up the river to Manhasset Bay. Jim dropped $210 into the fuel tank, $2.99 per gallon. Ouch. No dock fees tonight. Captain picked up a mooring near Iemanja, then moved aboard, Bluefish and all. Visions of a fish fry were dashed for that evening when the onboard captain, Jeff, was conked on the bean when an unsecured hatch nailed him on the head. It was off to the hospital for Jeff, and back into the fridge for fish.
Saturday the 13th was a workday aboard “Sea Chant” attending to filters and pumps. In the evening Captain Jim and Captain Jeff, reasonably recovered, dispatched the Bluefish in fine style aboard Iemanja. Plans are crystallizing for First Mate Joyce to come aboard “Sea Chant” on Sunday. Time to hustle.
Sunday dawned to more hot, hazy, humid weather and another up river run against the current. Captain’s rendezvous point with Max and Sally Groves with whom Joyce has hitched a ride is 58 miles away past West Point, the Palisades and Highlands to the tiny town of Newburgh, Mile H-53. Whew! Captain made it in time to treat our drivers to lunch at Pamela’s Restaurant. The River is wide here and passing boaters kick up quite a wake. No sooner had we finished lunch than the Captain was casting off for a fast run, with the current for a change, to our overnight tie up at the city dock in Kingston on Rondout Creek, Mile H-79. We were nestled in our slip before the evening thunderstorm hit. Jim took in the shore side Latino Festival while Joyce crashed.
No one would have believed how late I slept on Monday the 15th: 11:30. Is that transdermal Scopalomine patch a soporific? The Kingston waterfront beckoned us to launch our land dinghies, the two bicycles Captain brought onboard and get the flavor of this popular cruising destination, including a local maritime museum. Tempting as it was to stay, there be towns to the North for Captain to explore. We made the modest run to Esopus Creek at Mile H-88 to overnight on the hook in the town of Saugerties. Since there are no commercial fishermen living in these little creeks the only sounds to intrude (once the drummer finished practice) on our slumbers are the whistles of passing trains along the shoreline. We slept like babies.
We were underway early on Tuesday the 16th and put into the next Creek, Catskill, for our morning bicycle ride in the town of, what else, Catskill at Mile H-97! Each of the towns we toured bear evidence of decline, and all show signs of revitalization. Empty storefronts in the canal side towns runs at about 1/3. No loitering signs tell the rest of the tale. But since the canals have been removed from the Transportation Department to a separate Canal Authority old store fronts are being restored to their original style. Tourism and attracting retirees to own Hudson River vacation homes is the new goal. Up and down the canal system the towns will be as quaint as Annapolis. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds as we wend our way to Troy at Mile H-130. The rapids beyond make this the farthest navigable port on the Hudson. We dodged brief rain showers to take in the bright lights of Troy, and passed a comfortable night tied along the municipal wall with access to electricity and water.
The Hudson Travelers
The Champlain Canal, Wednesday August 17
Of the five boats along the wall at Troy “Sea Chant” was the first to be underway at 6:30 AM heading north. The nearby town of Waterford is a pivotal point in the 800 mile New York Barge Canal System. A sign advises boaters who bear left that they will ascend a flight of 5 closely spaced locks with a combined lift of 169 feet to enter the East-West 341 mile long Erie Canal. “Sea Chant” perseveres past this junction to pursue the 62.5 mile Champlain Canal entering Lock 1 at Mile CC 5.4. Our early start made for relatively fast locking: no time lost waiting while each vessel in turn secured themselves to the pipes or hanging lines from the lock walls. A two day canal pass is a modest $15.00.
Shore leave came early at Mile CC 11 where we stopped to ride our bikes around the town of Mechanicville, beside Lock 2. Later while we waited to exit the lock Captain deployed the awnings over the flying bridge. “That looks like a low bridge up ahead captain,” said First Mate, and the lock master also expressed concern about the 15.5’ clearance. We crept beneath it with scant inches to spare. The next low bridge caused our antenna to twang, and Captain lowered it for the duration. Even lower bridges crossed the original Erie Canal. One crewman was detailed to keep watch forward and sing out to the deck passengers, “everybody down” to keep them from being swept overboard.
Our skies today were blue, the air, crisp. Thick white cumulus clouds formed but shed no rain. The mirror surface of these non-tidal waters capture the bucolic scenes of tree lined banks in sharp detail. We continued up locking all day through Lock C-6 at Mile CC 32 about 7 miles from the town of Fort Edward. We thought about “Maggie’s Farm” racing in Galesville without us. But we were treated to freshly made strawberry shortcake and a band concert in the waterfront park where “Sea Chant” is enjoying the hospitality of the town: free tie-up and electricity.
Thursday, August 18 dawned at 60 degrees with Captain and First Mate scrambling to find long pants and shirts. Maryland’s humid weather had been here before we came, and could return, but for now we are lulled into wondering why we thought we needed to head to Canada for relief from the heat. Overhead, mackerel skies and feathery high clouds called mare’s tails remind us of the sailor’s ditty marking a weather pattern change: Mackerel skies and mares’s tails make tall ships wear short sails. Locks 7 and 8 marked the end of our uplocking to cross the Adirondack Mountains. Locks 9 to 12 gradually lowered us to the level of Lake Champlain. Curiously, there is no Lock 10. There had been one initially but it was determined that it was unnecessary, and so has been removed. We lingered in the Town of Whitehall at lunch time to bicycle into the hills to tour Skene Manor, an imposing Victorian mansion being restored by the town of Whitehall. We biked over a former car bridge that has been transformed into a theater. Imagine going to a play in a building suspended over a waterway. Our meal at the Finch & Chubb Restaurant lived up to its fame. The building itself had been an armory in the war of 1812. Benedict Arnold commissioned a fleet of small sailing craft to be build here to challenge an expected British attack for control of Lake Champlain. While the victory went to the British, and Arnold’s fleet was scuttled to prevent their falling into enemy hands the delay this skirmish entailed forced the British to retire to the safety of Canada until the following season. The revolutionaries had all winter to fortify themselves for the attack at Saratoga, the first American victory, and the battle that brought the French in on our side. Arnold was disillusioned by the lack of respect he felt his efforts were worth, and the rest is history. The town of Whitehall pronounces itself, The Birthplace of the U. S. Navy.
Later, an 18 year old fisherman named Buell made his mark on fishing. To his dismay a silver spoon from his picnic hamper fell overboard. He was intrigued to see a large fish seize the spoon and swim off. Buell welded a fishing hook to another silver spoon and began reeling in fish much larger than those landed by his counterparts using live bait. Thus the spoon lure industry was born here in Whitehall. Other innovations were inspired by the requirements of moving freight from deep water rivers and lakes into relatively shallow canals. The centerboard was invented for canal travel as was the traveler for quick sail handling. After taking on 100 gallons of fuel we exited through Lock 12 into Lake Champlain which initially more closely resembles a narrow river.
Governor Clinton’s Ditch as the Erie Canal was known laid the foundation for New York City to become the nation’s premier port, and to open up the mid-west to settlement. The Erie Canal runs the full width of the state and ties into both Lake Erie and Lake Ontario on its western and eastern sides. Midway a spur to the south links Lakes Cayuga and Seneca into the system. Lake Champlain at right angles to the Erie at its Eastern terminus heads north into Canada’s Quebec Province. To this day 77% of New Yorkers live with 2 miles of a canal, and 87% live within 20 miles: it is where all the cities grew.
After exiting the Champlain Canal we found an anchorage beside Fort Ticonderoga. Jim enjoyed the waters warm enough for swimming, and “Sea Chant” basked in the full moon awaiting new adventures on the Lake.
The Canal Couple
Lake Champlain, Thursday August 18
Lake Champlain formed from a deep fissure when geologic forces caused the earth to buckle and fill with sea water. When the ice age arrived it was covered by glaciers which filled the lake with fresh water as they melted. Initially the lake drained southward into the Hudson until uplifting of the Adirondacks sealed that opening and creating the lake. The Chambly Canal links the north end of the lake with the Riviere Richelieu at Rouses Point 110 miles north of Whitehall.
The lower 22 miles seems like a river with both banks of the lake as close as they were in the canals narrowing at one point between rock palisades to .1 mile wide. Aside from fishermen and the solitary house nestled in the tree covered steep banks it seems little changed since its discovery in 1609 by Samuel Champlain. A passing Amtrack train sounding its soulful whistle brings us abruptly back to the 21st century. We dropped our hook for the night just offshore from the rebuilt Ft. Ticonderoga.
Friday, August 19th dawned to overcast skies and mild temperatures. The delivery skipper was underway at 6 AM when the lake is at it calmest. We pulled into Port Henry mid-morning for a hike into town for groceries, and to take in the lake view from the surrounding hills. The boundary for the states of New York and Vermont lies in the middle of Lake Champlain. The lake continues to widen gradually as we push northward, and the enveloping mists shroud both the Adirondacks to our west and Vermont’s Green Mountains to the east in a blue haze. The serrated rows of peaks look like a painted scenery backdrop for a play. Next stop was Westport, an old style resort community with Victorian era homes nestled along quite streets. No less than three liveried dock attendants assisted our arrival. The winds have been picking up all day, and we ducked into the appendix like Shelburne Bay on the eastern shore. The bright lights of Burlington, Vermont are visible to our north. It is the largest city on the lake. Throughout the night we can hear the wind building as a front moves through. Our sailors adage of mare’s tails was prophetic.
As usual Captain arose at 6 AM to test the lake’s waters. The other sailors waved us cheerfully on our way: they weren’t budging from their snug anchorage. Shelburn Bay is located at the lake’s widest point, 12 miles across. Our guidebook advises, “Several days of a good blow can produce waves averaging 4 ft or more in height in the summer and approaching 8 ft in the fall.” Ours was only an overnight blow, but it persisted well into the morning. First Mate noted that unlike the Captain’s helm seat which is bolted to the floor hers is secured by a mere bungee cord. “Sea Chant” lurched wildly from side to side impacted by steady winds and building seas. Captain sought the protection of Valcour Island where we dallied over a breakfast of toast and eggs instead of our customary cereal taken underway.
Valcour Island has served the American cause in both wars against the British. Benedict Arnold arrayed his fleet of 15 vessels anchored in a line from Valcour to the western shore. Most of his craft resembled daysailors challenging the 180 ton British ships which had been disassembled on the Richeleau, portaged past what is now the Chambly Canal, and re-assembled on the Lake intent on seizing Fort Ticonderoga. Outgunned, Arnold was forced to retreat, and when overtaken by the pursuing British, to scuttle his fleet. Nonetheless, the British gave up their plans to attack the fort, and retired back to Canada.
At Valcour Island Lake Champlain splits into two branches. The lake on the Vermont side dead ends, and is therefore strictly a cruising ground. Fortified by breakfast Captain determined to put in to port at Plattsburg, NY 88 miles from our entry into the lake. Docking our single engine bow thruster-less vessel under windy conditions put Captain and Crew to the test, but we succeeded, and decided to call it quits for the day. Plattsburg is the second largest city on the lake with plenty to see shore-side. Our overnight slip is three boats away from the restaurant which will host a live band this evening, and is the destination Sunday of a motorcycle club hundreds strong. It won’t be dull around here!
The town has erected a tall eagle topped obelisk honoring the naval defeat of the British by Commodore Macdonough in the 1814 Battle of Plattsburg,, one of the battles that helped end the war. Like Arnold before him the Commodore deployed his fleet in the sheltering veil of Valcour Island. Ten thousand British were heading south awaiting support of their fleet. In a 2.5 hour battle the British fleet was defeated, and surrendered to the Americans. With that, the British army marched back to Canada. Likewise we are marching towards Canada Sunday the 21st.
The fresh-water Mariners
Quebec, Sunday August 21
Bonjour. Plattsburgh did its best to keep us in its thrall: a rock ‘n roll concert in town, a live band after our dinner at the marina’s restaurant, The Naked Turtle, and the promise of hundreds upon hundreds of motorcycles heading into town completing a charitable run. But Captain saw becalmed seas and lit out for a run to the border after breakfast at an internet café, The Coffee Cat.
As we bid adieu to Lake Champlain the winds were picking up as a cold front swept through Rouses Point, the last city on the US border. “Sea Chant” pressed on for the refuge of the Richelieu River which empties Lake Champlain. Canada maintains a custom’s dock just over the line for a casual check-in.
Of course, our relationship has not always been as cordial. Following the War of 1812 Ft. Montgomery was erected to guard our territorial rights. It was nicknamed “Ft Blunder” when the completed fort was surveyed—and found to be on the Canadian side. Back to the drawing board, and the completion of another fort.
We passed a pleasant afternoon traveling past marshy shores and farmland 22 miles to the town of St. Jean where we tied up along the sea wall for the night. Our progress was halted here by the beginning of another canal system, The Chambly, that overcomes the rapids of the Richelieu.
We enjoyed our stroll up to the first lock, and past all the stores whose signs are strictly in French. “What are crevettes?” asked Jim as we approached the Bleu Marlin marina restaurant. Aha! A picture on the banner provided the answer. The marina was having a shrimp feast, and we mustered enough savvy to place two orders that were heavenly.
While lounging back aboard “Sea Chant” Jim excitedly called First Mate to join him on the upper deck. It was the conclusion of an international hot air balloon festival, the second largest next to one hosted by Albuquerque, NM. Some 55 balloons drifted past, many descending low over the river, and a few landing on the grassy bank across from the restaurant. Never before have we seen balloons in other than the traditional shape. But scattered here among the merely colorful were balloons shaped like the devil complete with horns and tail, a rubbery duckie, two bumble bees, a barn with silo, farmer and farm animals peeking from barn doors, a toadstool with pixies, a beagle dog, a frog and a beaver. Clear blue skies showed them off to a-tee for the delighted crowds along the river walk.
Monday, August 22, our start was delayed until 9 AM when the bridge across the canal was rolled out of our way, and we entered Lock 9 of The Chambly Canal. In deference to the purchase of canal passes this one is electrically operated. All of the remaining locks are manually controlled. Unlike the US canals that were rebuilt to accommodate the increasing size of vessels, once this French Canal was completed it remained unchanged. It is rather narrow with rock lined banks to reduce erosion, and Captain had to maintain strict vigilance holding “Sea Chant” exactly in the center as the canal meandered along. The Canal is 10 miles long, but the locks are concentrated in a 1.5 mile stretch with the final 3 locks forming a continuous tier until discharging into the Chambly Basin. The bridge and lock keepers were very prompt in serving us, and bicyclists along the former tow path enjoyed watching the procedure. The locks were really only big enough for one vessel at a time. Each lock tender used a large winch handle to crank his lock door shut. Then each cranked up the floodgate on his side, and when the descent was completed, each cranked open his gate on the lower side of the lock.
Captain and “Sea Chant” took a well deserved rest upon reaching the basin to tour Ft. Chambly which in turn served the French, the British, and briefly the Americans in an unsuccessful bid to conquer Canada. Lunch was at the nearby Fourquet Fourchette Restaurant which offers French colonial food and drink. Thus fortified, “Sea Chant” plied her way along the lower Richelieu until dropping anchor between two mid-stream islands.
Early Tuesday morning on the 23rd we put ashore at the town dock of St-Antoine-sur-Richelieu at River Mile 17.8 to enjoy the provincial town’s unique style. Each home was a castle lovingly trimmed with filigree wood working on shutters, porch railings and trim boards, and even steps. Flowers are at their peak and abound in hanging baskets, planters and beds. Homes are clustered close to the river banks on both sides reflecting the early land distribution. Since the river was the only means of transport initially each family was deeded a parcel, with a narrow access to the shore, that ran very deeply inland for farming. Indeed the Richelieu has been called the world’s longest village. With our bikes stowed back aboard we continued downstream to the last lock on the river at mile 12, the St-Ours Lock (pronounced ‘ers.) In contrast to its quaint predecessors this lock is 300’ long with a floating dock to which we were secured: to bow and stern lines to tend on our descent. This was the last lock to be modernized before commerce bypassed water transit leaving the other Chambly locks in their original state.
The final leg of the Richelieu terminates in the industrial and gritty port of Sorel with a fire belching foundary filling the sky with billowing clouds. Goodbye Richelieu. Hello St. Lawrence.
Les Deux Amies
Saint Lawrence River, Tuesday August 23
Not since his first day on the Hudson has the Captain been confronted by unfavorable current. After First Mate Joyce joined “Sea Chant” we fell in with a favorable tide, and once in the Champlain system all of the flow has been to the north where the Richelieu aided us with a half knot bonus until finally joining the St. Lawrence.
We are not following that seaway to the Atlantic, but rather pursuing its course upstream to Montreal with a noticeable 1 knot current against our headway. Fortunately three rivers also empty into the St. Lawrence in close proximity and have divided the river into separate channels by their accumulated silt deposits. We pursued the Chenal Sud stopping at River Mile 23 at the town of Contrecoeur for an afternoon ramble. We enjoyed the older homes, although the town itself was more modest and practical in its architecture, and toured its historic center where two women were busy plying looms.
Continuing on we put in for the night at the town pier at River Mile 5 in the town of Boucherville across from a marshy shore and a river island supporting a corn farm. The town had Arthur Murry style feet painted on the sidewalk to guide tourists past the most stately homes. A baronial estate is on the market for $9 million. We found a restaurant that advertised “maison cuisine”, or home cooking, a favorite of the local workers, and just right for us boaters. Returning to “Sea Chant” an earnest resident hearing us speak English struck up a conversation about his budding career in heavy metal music. We passed a pleasant evening with him as our guest aboard, and have his signed demo cd as a souvenir.
On Wednesday the 24th “Sea Chant” emerged from her sheltering side channel into the full flood of the St. Lawrence as we headed into Montreal, the second largest French speaking city in the world. The current flowing past a channel marker made it look like a rock in a rapid where the flow of the St. Lawrence is joined by the Ottawa River with a combined strength of 5 knots in the center. “Sea Chant” quickly dove for the sheltering shore where the back swirling flow plunged us ahead into the harbor at over 9 knots. “Sea Chant” will lie pampered in the port of Vieux Montreal while Captain fortifies her with fresh charts of the Ottawa River, our next pursuit, and an oil and filter change.
The highlight of our morning sortie by bicyclette was a tour of the Chateau Ramezay Museum and Governor’s Garden. The governor’s home had the latest in 18th century technology including a dog powered spit turner for his hearth: a round basket fitted to a turnstile located near the ceiling relied upon a restless pooch pent up within to keep his nibs roast from searing. The city is bustling outdoors as the Canadians savor even the past few cool, overcast, and showery days before fall arrives in late September. We’ll return to the city tonight perhaps to dine in the restaurant named the Filles du Roy. It commemorates the 1000 French girls whose doweries were supplied by the King as inducement to emigrate and marry here, hence they were all called the king’s daughters, and are the ancestors of modern Quebec. We’ll take in the bright lights of the city’s special night illumination before heading off tomorrow into the Ottawa River.
The St. Lawrence Duo
Au Revoir Montreal Thursday, August 25
Had “Sea Chant” been a runabout we could have traveled via the Lachine Canal from our marina but the 8’ bridge clearance meant we had to follow the route of commercial vessels putting through the St. Lambert Lock, or Ecluse as they say here. A minimum of two crew must be aboard to transit, and a friendly boater traveling with another couple shared his wife with a solo sailor. Also, within the lock only two vessels handled lines. We were told to lock through tied to the other powerboat. Once through “Sea Chant” was kicking up her heels until we realized there was another lock the three of us would transit together. No need to rush: we would travel no faster than the 24’ Shark. It was our turn to be the line handlers through the St. Catherine Lock which opened onto the broad and shallow Lac St-Louis. It reminded me of the Keys in that you carefully threaded your way past submerged rocks (instead of coral), and sunlight glinted invitingly in all directions. Once across this lake we will enter the Ottawa River via the Canal at Sainte-Anne-De-Bellevue.
Terrace restaurants line the shore beside the lock at Ste. Anne, one of the most popular tourist destinations, particularly for boaters. It is a quick 3’ lift before exiting onto the Lac Des Deus Montagnes. Captain is settling into the cruiser mode now, and languished on a shady terrace enjoying Sangria, and eventually dinner before locking through to the Ottawa River, and a sunset cruise to our overnight anchorage near our next lock, about 45miles west of Montreal. Lock building on the Ottawa was spurred by the military and forestry. Logging and fur trading has given way to farming, and from the hint in the air I’d guess beef and dairy farming.
The Ottawa canals are a study in contrasts. From the smallest lift among our locks we tackled our largest on Friday morning, August 26. As transport by water gave way to rail and highway Hydro-Quebec created a new use for the river’s rapids: a dam was built to generate electricity. Beside the dam the deepest lock in Canada was constructed: a lift of 20 meters (about 65’). Water flow is controlled by a 200 ton guillotine gate. As “Sea Chant” was locking through the Public Television Station was filming a story on the operation. She cut a fine swath on this crisp, blue sky day, and we informed the interviewer that “Sea Chant” was a 1977 Mainship trawler, 34’x11’x3’, with a 200hp diesel engine, which cruises at 8 kts @3gph, a good thing when fuel is $5.00/gallon up here. We get about 3mpg, compared to the faster gas engined cruisers which get between ½ and 1mpg. About 900 of these boats were built between 1977 and 1987, and Mainship today is the number one trawler builder in the USA.
Travel on the river is endlessly entertaining. Both shores are easily viewed, and binoculars allow closer scrutiny. Farms, trees and fishing boats give way to riverside houses, campgrounds, and new mansions the farther up river we go. The surest sign of a town ahead is the glint of the silver church spire. Older towns have a church of gothic stone topped with a silvery roof, and a steeple sometimes in 3 layers all in silver color: a base, an open belfry, and a steep coned pinnacle with a cross on top. They are marked on our charts as well in lieu of lighthouses.
All in all. “Sea Chant” has proved an enduring enchantress. One of the oldest vessels plying the waterways, she faithfully starts and plugs away all day without complaint. Captain and crew much prefer her upper steering station specially fitted with a new seat for First Mate and shaded by dual Biminis. It has a quaint auto helm control about 3 “ diameter. The merest nudge will send the bow aiming opposite to the turn (First Mate has a cheat sheet diagram to aid in obeying helm commands.) Her wheel, by contrast, requires vigorous efforts by Captain to redirect her bearing. On rainy days Captain steers from her main cabin while First Mate looks on from her twin helm seat on the port side. There is ample room to walk on the outside to deploy fenders and fasten lines when we dock. Stove, fridge, hot shower, 12 volt TV for on board movies, and brand new screening for her lower level "porch” makes her a cozy cruiser ideal for these glassy waters. If it weren’t for the blandishments of shore we could stay cocooned aboard.
Montebello De Papineauville is a destination not to be missed. Papinveau was the original land grantee and 5 generations lived there until it was sold to the Canadian railroad in 1930 for use as a sportsmans club. The original manor hose not having enough rooms, the “sportsmen” built a 204 room log cabin style edifice, which was sold to a hotel chain in 1971. The whole place is a staggering 65000 acres. “Sea Chant” nestled into a slip while crew headed for the outdoor pool. Lodging is in the world’s largest log cabin. It is laid out in a huge X pattern with a central hall featuring a six-faced massive fireplace. The yacht basin is earmarked for ice fishing in winter. The year round resort features a tunnel to the indoor pool, horseback riding, golf, and a host of other sports. It is a 5 star cuisine and accommodations resort in a rustic setting. We topped off our day by strolling from the pool to the outdoor bar-be-que of trout, steak, chicken, shrimp, veal, and sausages cooked by the chefs while you watched with superb side dishes. A saxaphonist provided a smokey jazz ambience. We’ll explore the rest of the resort in the morning when we recover from dinner.
The Mellow Montebellos
P.S. Try www.ballooncanada.com for more about the aerial show we enjoyed at St. Jean-sur-Richelieu. If we dally in Ottawa until Sept 2 we can see them again.
Bon Jour, Hello Ottawa, Saturday August 27
Marshes indented by fingers of water gave way to towering granite cliffs on the left shore studded with unbelievable mansions, embassy row, when we completed our up-river pursuit of the Ottawa River. The 80’ falls described by Samuel Champlain as curtains (Rideau) were overcome in 1832 when English engineer, John By, constructed a flight of 8 locks transited in a continuous series. The manual gates are drawn aside by chain around a drum. All eyes were on “Sea Chant” as she made her solo ascent at 6 PM, ushered into the heart of this capital city like a queen. The flukey water whorls and gusty breezes kept Captain and Mate on their toes minding the fore and aft lines looped behind cables attached along the walls. The later locks are filled to overflowing requiring two sets of fenders: a high set to cushion our contact while ascending against the walls, and the other at the water line to prevent scuffs when we rest at the level of the sidewalk.
The War of 1812 was the impetus for the Rideau Canal construction. Since the St. Lawrence forms part of our common boundary it was deemed imperative to have an alternative link to Kingston at the headwaters of the St. Lawrence on Lake Ontario as a means of supplying Montreal. The area defined by the seaway and Rideau Canal resembles a piece of pie. The Irish and Scotch workers who built the canal settled at their work site, Bytown. Their ancestral accents are discernible in the accents of lock tenders and bar keeps today.
Bytown was selected as the national capital, a location at a safe distance from the American border, and at the junction of the bilingual country. The Indian word for trade furnished the formal name of the city: Ottawa. Champlain did more than map new areas for France. He made an incredible 22 trans-Atlantic crossings to press for support of New France.
The Rideau Canal was built with two stone buildings on opposite shores. The Royal Engineers Office on the eastern side became a private residence in 1868. The coming of the railroad in 1901 made this into the house of song, “The Railroad Runs Through The Middle of the House” when the rear of the structure had the railway terrace pass through it. Alas, vibrations forced the demolition of the house 10 years later.
In winter after the locks cease operation the Rideau takes on a whole new aspect. The water level in the locks is lowered to a minimum. When it freezes the canal and Rideau for the next 80 miles becomes the world’s longest skating rink. By boring through the ice to the river flow below and pumping this freshly to the surface each night the surface is kept smooth. Residents can commute to work like Hans Brinker!
We tied up for the night along the concrete walls a half mile for our flight of 8 locks to enjoy the heart of the city at night.
Sunday, August 28 our bicycles were launched to enjoy the streets blocked off each summer Sunday for pedestrians and all forms of wheeled use. Promptly at 10 we reached the grounds in front of the 3 gothic style houses of parliament where the Royal Canadian Band and ceremonial marching troops strutted their stuff in this end of season ceremony. They all sport the bushy tall hats and red uniforms we associated with Buckingham Palace. Parking our bikes we hopped aboard a double decker bus which took us on a wide tour of the city with stops for tourists wishing to linger at the numerous museums and points of interest. We stayed aboard, and learned of two major events awaiting our return to the parliament lawn.
No sooner had Jim gotten his sausage dog from a vendor on the corner than the Canadian Gay Pride Parade got underway. They were rallying at city hall with a “Kiss-in”, but we headed off when the last float passed by to try an authentic treat: a BeaverTail, or in French , Queues de Castor. North American explorers stretched pastry into an oblong shape and cooked it floating on oil. Topped with cinnamon, maple or apple they take their name from the furry animal they sought.
It is back to “Sea Chant” where we cast off to wend our way another ½ mile up the canal where we again tied up along the wall by the CFL stadium at Lansdowne Park for this evening’s Mick Jagger concert. Forty years ago they were booked at the Ottawa YMCA. Tonight some seats inside the stadium commanded $1000 each. Seated aboard “Sea Chant’s” enchanted upper deck we will sit in comfort and hear it all. With a bit of rubber necking we’ll even be able to see the visuals. With the afternoon to loll away the bicycles were deployed to enjoy the numerous flower plantings on this beautified waterway. In gratitude for hospitality during WWII of their pregnant queen the Dutch supervise the planting of 1 million tulips here each year. The beds are now a dazzling sea of annuals in elegant arrangement. Waterside bike paths line both shores, and we’ll sally forth for dinner before indulging in a thrill we missed in our teens: attending a Stones Concert. Ta-ta. That’s Mick’s limo entering now.
The Stones Fans
PS We are now in the town of Merricksville about 2 days from the canal end where we can stop as Katrina’s rain moves inland.
RIDEaU Monday August 29
How appropriate for this staunchly bilingual country that the name Rideau is a pun, with the Giant’s Staircase ascending to Parliament Hill, and wending its way through an ever varying landscape of city, posh riverside homes, historic towns, narrow canals and broad vistas of marsh grass and wildlife. The French word means curtain, the appearance of the veil of falls of the tributary Rideau River cascading today as it did when Samuel Champlain named it. It was built in anticipation of an American invasion. And we are here obeying the bilingual mandate: ride eau (water).
For 173 years this waterway has drawn travelers to some of Canada’s oldest resorts along its shores. It is comprised of 31 locks lifting vessels on the Rideau River to a network of lakes, the highest of which is Newboro Lake, a 270’ ascent to 404’ above sea level, and from there descending through 14 locks on the Cataraqui River to Lake Ontario, a lowering of 162’. The original locks and canal cuts are powered today as they were when engineered by Lieutenant Colonel John By, “the muscle power of lock staff cranking the distinctive “crab” winches. At each lock Captain and First Mate keep a sharp lookout for our pair of lock tenders to mount the steps and begin turning the cylinder wrapped by chain which opens and later closes the lock doors. If a bridge crosses our way they must sprint ahead to crank and push the roadway aside over the lock bank. They mount the upper end of the lock to take a few turns on the crab winch there that partially opens either a sluice or a pair of Venetian blind valves in the gates that starts water flooding into the sealed chamber. As the water level rises more turns of the crab winches carefully matched by the tenders to insure an even current flow past our vessel tethered fore and aft to the port canal wall. Why the port? Captain is also traveling much as the early voyagers along the Rideau did: with one engine and a Joyce powered bow thruster: an extended boat hook firmly pressed against whatever firm surface offers itself at our heightened elevation. That done, Captain adds throttle and the engines torque nudges “Sea Chant’s” bow smartly to the right, and we are on our way once more.
The first 11 locks we traversed in Ottawa are all in hand dug and blasted lock-ways 5 miles before joining the Rideau River at Hogs Back. The longest stretch, 39 kilometers between locks occurs south of Manotick en route to lock 17 at Burritts Rapids. Often the locks are in series of two or three to accommodate the lift required manned by human power. Only at 3 locks where commerce necessitated a heavier road than mustered muscle could move have electric motors been installed.
Captain and Mate alike were plenty tuckered Monday evening when we cleared through locks 21-23 at Merrickville. It had been a town of 50 souls farming and operating a lumber mill when the military construction project boosted the town’s status: they got a military base and flourished. Base is a relative term. Their fortification consisted of a moat-surrounded block-house, a fortified tower essentially standing vigil over the strategic locks. With growth in trade in mind the mid-lock of the series into Merrickville had an extra wide area on the town side. This allowed barges to off-load, turn around and return to Ottawa without impeding other vessels. Captain and Mate made a quick reconnoiter of the lovely stone buildings, took fresh stocks of grub aboard, then swaggered into a hospitable Irish pub that not only nourished our bodies but linked us via internet and CNN images of the world outside the 19th century. Merrickville is notorious for its trains: they sound their warning whistles approaching the town—all night long. With this in mind and darkness fast approaching Captain cast off the lines and hustled out to a serene anchorage in mirror calm waters. Alas, the tracks run along shore and sound carries fully over the water. We enjoyed each crossing through town along with the haunting call of a loon.
Tuesday, August 30th dawned over a scene too beguiling to quit in haste: Mate persuaded Captain to partake of a cooked breakfast rather than his trademark coffee “on the fly” with anchor hoisting competing with tucking in his shirt tail. Mate was treated to the luxury of languishing unperturbed on the upper deck while Captain tenderly tinkered with “Sea Chant’s” innards below the floors in the main salon. And a good thing, too. The alternator bracket had shed its nut, spacer and washer into the many-nooked bilge below. Diligent searching turned up the bushing, and Captain resourcefully supplied the missing metric nut from his indispensable 16-section trove tray of “wouldn’t hurt to have it” spare parts. Refreshed by a shower Captain was eager to be underway.
And what a magical day it was! Our scenery now is rustic, churches, alas, of the “low” theology prize simplicity. Gone are the wedding cake confections of spires that pierce the sky, the first harbinger of a town. These blunt steeples are solid, cross-less, and no higher than the surrounding trees. Our new silver beacons are the soaring silos. It is harvest season. Hay is in bales, and being trucked to market or stored in vast barns. Corn tassels bespeak a prodigious yield nigh its peak. Bass boaters flick their flies on waters where the marker numbers are seen mirrored in inverse below the surface as crisply as their twin above. Swimming piers with slides dot the riverfront 100 yards from the coast just past the lily pads and algae. Hershey Canada is our focus this morning. Factory seconds are to be had a short walk from Old Slys Lock (26 & 27). I’ll save you some. The lock takes its name from the settler whose home was flooded in the dam construction. The once discrete river became a flooded plain when a dam was built to supply water to the locks. A broad marshland formed, although in general, the flow of the entire system has reduced the propensity for malaria.
Fortified with a 1 3/4 kls sack of almond chocolate bar fragments, $5.00, we pressed on to the bright lights of Smiths Falls—only to bicycle back to the Heritage Farmhouse museum at Slys Lock. A Grist mill and wool mill were operated here year round courtesy of the unfrozen rapids. A Mr. Bates ran the mills, more profitable than his competitor Abel Ward’s seasonal mills. Ward was jealous but patient, and when Bates died Ward bought the mills from the widow and sewed up ownership of the commerce of the area. After our tour of the miller’s home, complete with the unique two-story attached outhouse, we returned to the 4 story Canal Museum in the city. We are now in Lower Rideau Lake enjoying shore power where we spent the night: at the gas dock of Rideau Ferry Harbor. With an early evening stop Captain was rewarded with Mate’s cuisine duly noted in his log as “nice.” Katrina’s light rains and spent fury arrived at midnight, and persuaded us to stay put till noon, recollect the recent day’s pleasures and read, Hemingway for Jim and Moby Dick for me. Gray skies gave way to a pink sunset, but not before we marveled at islets resembling Bonsai arrangements at full scale set in shimmering waters overlooked by houses tucked in among the trees on the shore bedrock. Cribs, wire blocks of stone lying just below the surface support markers all but hidden around unexpected corners.
From wending our way through narrow canals we progressed this afternoon to threading our way through channels too narrow for two boats to pass each other. Midway a wide area was designated as a “sound horn” zone. Backing out of an on comer’s way would be a tricky if not impossible task. At Newboro Lake our markers switch over from red on the right to red on the left signaling the start of our descent those 162’ in 14 locks to Lake Ontario. “Sea Chant” must be mindful not to scrape her bow overhanging a canal edge as the water starts to lower. The lock tenders lend a hand holding us off. No water turbulence now; water is draining as from a tub, and more smartly. Our final locks of the day, 39-42, were at Jones Falls. We waited an hour while another boat up-locked and then more water was accumulated in the top chamber to “flush us” as Captain puts it. We were tied up and ready for another 10 minutes when a New York boater heading home to Cayuga Lake joined us on the starboard edge. What a phenomenal flume ride that cascade of 4 locks would make if those early engineers hadn’t been limited to military plans. At Jones Falls the blockhouse and lock tender’s home were one. Located on a promontory it had gun slits in the walls. They saw duty in the Rebellion of 1837 when the Canadians tried unsuccessfully to throw off the Brits. The Canadians also managed to meld their French and British halves without recourse to Civil War.
It is more civilized here. You would love to a fall foliage cruise in late September. Waterway Getaway rents houseboats at Smiths Falls. Its not too late to book. Do join us. The Canadaclub.com advertises fractional ownerships in a lodge 3 miles from lock 35 in lake-country. Or head to Montebellow. A meeting of the heads of the industrialized world was booked here, and they know where to go. We are torn between our original goal of transiting the Trent-Severn Waterway linking Lake Ontario with Lake Superior, or returning on the Hudson for our fall foliage excursion. We’ll think about that tomorrow. Today it’s a sunrise departure from our overnight slip at Shangri-La Marina 6 miles to a bridge with 4’ clearance.
Captain scoured the bridge tender’s hut for signs of activity at 7 A.M. then consulted his guide book: Canal staff report at 8:30. We doubled back a mile to Seeleys Bay for breakfast where the locals gather: food and local color, and a chance to capture reflection photos, and buy a newspaper, “The Kingston Whig-Standard.” We drove along coastal Mississippi and New Orleans this past winter and saw communities staggered just by the debris of the previous year’s 2 harsh storms. The scale of New Orleans suffering exceeds comprehension.
We were advised that Katrina’s heavier rains that fell south of us loosened cattails from their banks that could foul our engine water cooling intakes. Our fellow locker from Cayuga Lake fell in right behind us as we departed Seeleys Bay, and we locked through the next 3 locks together. He took the lead through the marshy channels, and just as a car following along behind on a dirt road eats dust we were eating the weed his turbulence scudded our way. Jim stopped to clean his strainer.
We caught sight of Cayuga locking alone through the final flight of 4 canals leading to Kingston, with two boats below waiting to lock-up. We lay along the canal waiting dock 1 ½ hours while four 26’ boats and a 36’ Carver accumulated. We were previewing the lock, and following a guide in period costume through the block house as it would have been garrisoned in 1837, and the time passed pleasantly. The group locking was snug. We were on the port wall peering over the spillway with the Carver behind us. Two boats abreast were forward on the starboard wall, and the final two, single-file behind them. It all went smoothly, and the rewarding Rideau adventure concluded in Kingston, Canada’s original capital city.
At 2 PM Captain got a slip in Kingston Marina, and he and crew enjoyed shore leave in town. “Sea Chant” deserves kudos and a preventive maintenance respite.
“Sea Chant” is a game old girl, and is already excited about the Lake Ontario Chart Book Captain brought home to her today.
Riders of the RIDEaU
Oswego Saturday September 3
Friday was a day of rest for “Sea Chant” and lots of attention. She was treated to a new alternator, an impeller for the head, and a clean out of the water intake filter supplying water to the systems of the boat, the engine filter having been cleaned en route on the Rideau. After another night on the town it was early to bed for an early Saturday crossing of Lake Ontario.
Saturday we were effectively underway at 8 a.m., Captain delayed for the opening at the diesel pump. Had winds been less gusty at our arrival we would have fueled first. The recommended crossing of the lake which allows winds to fetch across its 100 mile length is to leave at 5 am and put in for the night at Main Duck Island. Once owned by John Foster Dulles it is now a Canadian owned wildlife sanctuary. It made a nice lunch break, but you know the Captain better than to believe mere gusty winds would dissuade him from heading out again after lunch. Mate Joyce prepared with a patch behind her ear, and away we went, and a rollicking ride it was! Winds averaged gusted between 17 and 22. Spray on our starboard side even washed over her upper deck and sluiced down the ladder to the screened transom porch, or fishing cockpit as the Captain deems it: no reading today. Mate chocked herself with pillows on the port settee, the low side, and Captain braced himself in his helm chair and elsewhere and steered snug and dry inside.
At 4 p.m. “Sea Chant” put in to the port of Oswego, a gritty shipping terminus, and no place for a lady to spend the night. Captain and Mate emerged from the cabin in the Oswego River’s calm and restored the chair, thick coil of yellow electric cable, and fiberglass boarding steps back to their accustomed place on starboard, and marveled at how clean the boat was. “Sea Chant” had enjoyed her fresh water boat wash courtesy of Lake Ontario, and took the 6’waves with flying colors.
The Oswego River has a series of 8 commercial locks. No more gentle influx of lifting waters in snug locks. We were locking where the big boys ride. We missed the wall cables around which a line could be led and cleated fore and aft to hold the boat against the wall. Canadian lock tenders keep their lock lines coiled on the bank to be lowered as a boat comes to rest against the chamber wall. One such set was bright yellow cascading down into a deep lock. “Repunzel, let down your golden hair,” thought Mate at that lock. The lines in the American locks remain against the mossy walls. Crew is expected to hold onto the slimy lines, and in the swirling current of the rapidly filling lock it needed a sturdy pull as water jetting against the walls pushed “Sea Chant” toward the middle.
“Sea Chant” locked steadily along, shedding her Canadian courtesy flag along the way: we are back in the USA. Between Locks 2 and 3 the town of Fulton offers meals and views in the Lock 3 Restaurant, and a yacht basin with free electricity for overnight canalers who can stay for 2 days. We opted for the canal wall instead, and dinner at 7. We are only ½ mile from the final lock, and can be underway at 7 am. Locks close 10 P.M. to accommodate the dwindling barge traffic. “Full ton,” once rang out as passing coal barges advertised their wares, giving Fulton its name. Both the decline in river traffic, and interstate highways bypassing town is causing the demise of this and other canal side settlements.
Sunday, the 4th after locking through at 8 A.M. our cruise along the Oswego River was relaxing in its broad expanse: no rocky shore shoals or tricky steering. Passing the town of Phoenix at OS River Mile 2 Captain put in for shore leave. The Phoenix “Bridge Brats” are known world-wide. Volunteers manage a cadre of teens who will bike to any store in town with a mariner’s shopping list. Great for the boaters, and great for the kids. They have a deluxe shore side town dock to tempt travelers into spending at this dying town. A local marina sponsors a Christmas Parade of Lights to be held this year September 16, 17 and 18, before the canal freezes.
Heading upstream boater’s advised us that the 5” of Katrina’s rains had flushed all the pond scum out into the rivers. The weight of the floating mats dragged several markers downstream, and has covered the river with the growth normally in calm coves. Proceeding with caution Captain piloted us along from our upper deck in the morning’s sunshine passing the juncture of 3 rivers: Oswego, Seneca, and Oneida. We headed right into the Oneida through locks of the Erie Canal. Arriving at the town of Brewerton “Sea Chant” spied the EsKay Marina where she will await us for a month until our return.
It is a short drive from here to Syracuse Airport to pick up a rental car. It will be Fall Foliage on the Hudson when we return. How could we take “Sea Chant” west on the Trent-Severn Waterway and leave her forlorn all winter on Lake Superior? There be fish to be caught this fall and next Spring in Mayo, Rockfish for sure next Spring, and “Sea Chant” wouldn’t miss that for the world.
The Homeward Bound
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Florida Lake Country and beyond - January-February 2004
No matter how many trips you make to Florida there are always more places to visit. This year we headed south towing a new 2004 MacGregor 26m. Last year we explored the St. John's River but neglected "the most scenic creek" to quote the guide book, so we set out to rectify our error.
Oh, Black Water, Tuesday 1/20
Frost was on the deck again when we awoke but by afternoon it was mild: perfect for a quick buzz up the Black Water Creek just south of Jacksonville. You could believe Seminoles would step out onto the banks of this uniformly deep creek until low power wires and the occasional dock betrayed modern civilization. It is amazing how quickly we got underway: the mast stayed in trailering configuration due to the anticipated low clearance. We've left the mast on the trailer before for canal passages, and propped it up on a ladder on the Erie Canal, but using the Macgregor mast carrier for the mast while underway was a first, and worked quite well. The scenic creek is about 10 miles long, with secluded coves, overhanging vines, and mirror image calm. Our sojourn on Black Creek was a wonderful interlude from I-95.
Having been here a year ago we know the lay of the land. It's off to the movie, "Cold Mountain." We took a sunset stroll on the municipal floating docks at Green Cove Springs. Captain craved the feel of rolling decks beneath his feet, and the floating docks were a good approximation. When he is too old to put out of port we'll rig him a chair on a floating dock and mount a tiller beside it. That way he can enjoy "Tiller Time" while recounting his sea tales for passers by.
Armadillo Acres, Wednesday, 1/22
For decades I thought we owned property in Gopher Hole Estates, and as it turns out, it was Armadillos all along. We made our annual inspection pilgrimage to our property in Silver Spring Shores today. Bouyed by the truism that a rising tide floats all boats we had visions of rampant development engulfing our lone forlorn lot. Alas, all was as we found it last year. But with the resolve of visionary developers who could forsee the vibrant community to be when our son is a grandfather we gleaned two black trash bags of Icehouse Ale empties from our dream retirement site. We ferreted out Lake Griffin State Park between Ocala and Orlando and are now being serenaded by tree frogs on the trunks of blooming Red Bud trees. There is a launch ramp ( watch out for Alligators) and lake access, but we did not take advantage of it.
Lake Tohopekaglia (Sleeping Tiger) Thursday 1/23
With all that water in Central Florida's Lake Country a fella surely could launch his boat somewhere and take a sail. Off drove the Mariner in search of a ramp. Onward we drove only to encounter trickles where adequate water depth should have allowed a place to put in. What's that you say? The lake has been drained down 5' for maintenance. Shiver me timbers! That sort of thing isn't done on the oceans.
All of the West Lake Toho is slated for improvement to its shoreline. It seems that clearing the accumulated debris and muck in the exposed lake shore and replacing it with sand sends the Bass population soaring since this is where they breed. And Bass is what it is all about on Florida lakes. While thwarted in our quest for daysailing we did spend a bucolic night at Southport Park campground. Flocks of cranes gather here, and pairs are seen gleaning lawns. Their size makes them impressive: as big as a goose but with stork-like legs and a jaunty red crest.
Orlando Time Share Condo, Jan 25-31
It's Friday, the 24: too soon for our 1 week Orlando Condo reservation. We'll give East Lake Toho a try. Eureka! The municipal St. Cloud Marina has an excellent ramp with plenty of water. We were rewarded for our perseverance with a great spinnaker sail. The Sleeping Tiger remained sleeping: no squalls or rising winds to spice up lowering the spinnaker when day was done. The lake has a diameter of 4 miles and is about 16' deep in the center, gradually shoaling towards the shoreline. It would be a perfect place for a mid-winter Macgregor Regatta. It was close enough to return to from Orlando for a sunset sail topped by dinner at the Fishing Camp on the opposite shore. The Marina is the jewel in this park. It also has a biking path, picnic pavilion and beach. Locals fill the lot daily for its bucolic respite and the endless fascination of watching boat launches. We left the rigged boat at St. Cloud and headed off for our condo week and mandatory visit with Mickey Mouse. Unfortunately, we failed to check in with the off-site marina management, but luckily returned in time before they had the boat towed away.
Our week in the condo passed quickly. I am impressed in the strides "The Mouse" has made since our last visit with kids in tow. "Disneyline" as we dubbed it then has been tamed. The tedium, and more significantly to Disney, the lost spending time, of shuffling forward in a snake line has been supplanted at major attractions by a speed line alternative. Those who wish may insert their admission card into a machine like a metro fare card. It spits out the ticket and a stub with a ½ hour return window set about 45 minutes in the future. Return during your designated window and proceed by a special line to the front of the queue to be seated ahead of the "shufflers." We spent an enjoyable day at Epcot. We'll save Magic Kingdom for a time when the grandchild can come, too. Disney is building hotel rooms apace and is blending into the surrounding city with its "Downtown Disney" area where no admission applies. It has shops and attractions like Cirque du Soliel and a multi screen movie house.
Near downtown Kissimmee, Jim enjoyed "The Flying Tigers", a collection largely of WW II planes being lovingly restored by individuals who camp beside the airfield hosting the display to happily tinker on their individual project as their Florida family get away. One of Jim's friends passed on to Jim a book profiling WW I pilots: the Bloody Red Baron, French, English and American flyers. Compelled to join forces the French and English never lost sight of their underlying antagonism: "the reason the sun never sets on the British Empire is because God can not trust it in the dark."
The First of February saw us hitched up and heading west on I-4 near the town of Polk, home of the Fantasy of Flight attraction. The Smithsonian in Washington DC has a deluxe anniversary year display of the Wright Brother's Kitty Hawk flight that had us in the mood for more aviation history. Kermit, heir to oil income, has made it his life's work to restore vintage planes in a first class fashion. He has created Disney quality experiences of parachuting from an aircraft, a foxhole adjacent to a vintage airstrip, and simulated air dog fights while seated in a flight simulator. Guided tours of restoration, observing take-off and landing, bi-plane rental rides easily fill up a day at this most engaging airplane display.
Trip I or Trip II ?
In the week before our departure Jim took a call from the owner of a Gemini catamaran, "La Palapa" (The Beach House). A year and a half ago the owner took delivery in Miami and hired Jim as the delivery Captain bound for Costa Rica. The trip was aborted after a week, and the boat hauled out at Stock Island, just north of Key West. After the prolonged hiatus while he got his affairs in order he touched base to say he was ready to resume the delivery in February, '04 if Jim was available. We had in mind towing our MacGregor to Key Biscayne, launching and heading to the Bahamas. That would be Trip 1. But storing the MacGregor and moving "La Palapa" to Costa Rica would be an acceptable Trip II, partially duplicating our Ruta Maya trip aboard the MacGregor 65 (Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala in 2001).
February 2, Super Bowl Sunday
Sarasota, home of cousins Mark and Linda , who have graciously included us in their plans to watch the big game at a friend's country club. We were parked in front of their door by noon and were wisked off to see the game, where Jim lost $40 on the pool.
February 3, Punta Gorda
Punta Gorda can only mean Chip and Barb. As a bonus, mutual friend Dave was there, too. Three boat brokers together and the yarns they can spin. Jim is an animated speaker, but Dave surpasses him. It was a rollicking visit, and I am only sorry it wasn't filmed. I can't remember when I have laughed so hard for so long. Dave is here to install teak in one of the bathrooms. Barb's dream is to be selected for an HGTV episode of "Extreme Homes." A few years ago we sailed a Macgregor 26x from Marco Island right up to Chip and Barb's back door. Charlotte Harbor is a great sailing destination. We'll continue south to Cape Coral and let the workers get started.
Friends Greg and Monique picked up a rental house on a canal in Cape Coral. After trying yearly rentals, they have decided to go after the seasonal vacation market-and use it as a family compound, too. They spent Christmas there with Greg's extended family. Not only do you need furniture but a dock and pool to compete. We stopped by to check Greg's boat and verify the pool was ready. We were tempted to take the first plunge ourselves but lit out to see what else there was to see in Ft Meyers and Bonita Springs.
Evening on the 4th found us on the tip of Bonita Springs on a lot slated for 4 townhouses to be built. Boat slips were at the back of the lot. Across the street is the Gulf of Mexico. A local encouraged us to "stay put" for the night because there was nowhere else. In the morning we drove up and down the strand. He was right. Antique mobile homes in a 60 unit enclave sell for the cost of a townhouse at home. Islands are where it is at for Realty price jumps.
Thursday, February 5-8, Key West
If its warm weather you want, you keep heading south until you are at the tip of the Keys. We checked into Boyd's Marina and Campground on Stock Island, adjacent to Key West, launched the MacGregor, tied it in its slip, and headed for the pool. Our campsite sits alongside the waterfront about 20 yards from our boat slip. The pool water approximates a hot tub, and the high for the day is 81 degrees. I could get used to this style of Florida.
Maybe we'll head for the Dry Tortugas. On a previous trip I sailed a Macgregor 26x powersailor to the Dry Tortugas, about 70 miles west of Key West. Or maybe not. Damn it, they fixed the pool thermostat. Now the water is "refreshing." Before, the bathers had stayed in for hours at a stretch until we were teasing about it being the Fountain of Youth.
Island Ambition is overtaking Jim. Why go to the Tortugas? We can daysail to the City (Key West) and check out the bars. Boyd's is growing on us. Every morning we head out for a little sail. The first volunteer camper to accompany us was 53yr old "Huck" from Pa. He had been vacationing here every year since 1976, and had never been sailing. The blustery winds and 2'-3' waves gave him an exciting baptism. Unfortunately he slipped off the bow while assisting in docking and fell into the shallow water, injuring his ribs and arm. Next time we saw him he had a sling and body wrap for strained shoulder and cracked ribs. We felt awful about it, but Huck was cheerful and uncomplaining, great attributes in a shipmate. Lesson - avoid "help" from novices, just leave'em in the cabin while you dock. I could have backed up to the pier and stepped off the transom with a stern line and long bow line, easily managing the tie up by myself.
On another day we sailed to Key West, about 5 miles and a perfect beam reach under main and jib. After lunch and a walking tour of downtown bars, we decided to return the back way, sailing on the northern side of the Keys to the bridge that separates Stock Island from Big Pine Key ( I think). We just dropped the mast and motored under the bridge, raising the mast again on the other side. This is a pretty neat trick and only a few other boats can do it.
The ramp at Boyd's was a little tight , so I might recommend the ramp at Oceanside Marina, but they no longer provide storage for the tow vehicle and trailer, so you have to go to Peninsula Marine about 1 block away and make storage arrangements, $10/day. You can still launch at the Key West Bight marina, but parking space for the tow rig is limited. Due to boat delivery obligations the Macgregor trip was cut a little short this year. Still, we launched three times, raised the mast twice, and spent about 8 days sailing. The Bahamas will still be there next winter!
Trip II, "La Palapa" To Panama
Kevin and Ani (On-ee) are an engaged couple fresh out of college who sailed with us one perfect day on the Macgregor while we were at Boyd's campground. Now they're hooked. He is a California fire fighter who repels from helicopters into forest fires. In the wet season he has off to travel. Ani is a landscaper, also footloose when the ground is frozen at home. In addition, she is a ballroom dancer. Jim told his other crewmate Wally she was an exotic dancer to piqué his interest in helping sail to Panama if conditions are favorable. La Palapa's final destination is the Pacific side of Costa Rica at the little town of Quepos. Meanwhile, Boyds is right around the corner from the boat yard. Kevin and Ani came by to check out the Gemini and pitched right in wiping her down and bending on sails. Since they just 'happened" to have their passports, they agreed to crew until they were tired of it. They stayed to the bitter end, over 30 days. Bottom painting is set for the 13th . Wally flies in the 15th with "patches" for the young green crew to keep them from getting green around the gills. As exciting as sailing the Ruta Maya was for me on the 65' I'm going to stay behind this go round. It's hard to top the perfection of my first trip. Let the "La Palapa" Adventures begin!
The itinerary was Key West to Isla Muheres, Mexico via the coast of Cuba, about 335miles, then along the coast of Mexico south to Belize, about 250 miles, then inside the reef through the Belize islands maybe 50 miles, then to Roatan, Honduras, another 100 miles, then around the tip of Honduras to Isla Providencia, about 365 miles, 265 miles more to Panama, 35 miles through the canal, and finally 480 miles to Quepos, Costa Rica. About 1900 miles total. It took over 30 days, including a 5 day layover in Panama and deserves a write-up of its own. A Macgregor Powersailor could probably have done it faster, maybe we'll see one day! When I finally returned to Key West, all was as I had left it, except much dustier. A quick 1200 miles later, the Macgregor was once again safely back at her home port.
--Happy Sailing and great trailerable adventures from Capt Jim and first mate Joyce!
Oh, Black Water, Tuesday 1/20
Frost was on the deck again when we awoke but by afternoon it was mild: perfect for a quick buzz up the Black Water Creek just south of Jacksonville. You could believe Seminoles would step out onto the banks of this uniformly deep creek until low power wires and the occasional dock betrayed modern civilization. It is amazing how quickly we got underway: the mast stayed in trailering configuration due to the anticipated low clearance. We've left the mast on the trailer before for canal passages, and propped it up on a ladder on the Erie Canal, but using the Macgregor mast carrier for the mast while underway was a first, and worked quite well. The scenic creek is about 10 miles long, with secluded coves, overhanging vines, and mirror image calm. Our sojourn on Black Creek was a wonderful interlude from I-95.
Having been here a year ago we know the lay of the land. It's off to the movie, "Cold Mountain." We took a sunset stroll on the municipal floating docks at Green Cove Springs. Captain craved the feel of rolling decks beneath his feet, and the floating docks were a good approximation. When he is too old to put out of port we'll rig him a chair on a floating dock and mount a tiller beside it. That way he can enjoy "Tiller Time" while recounting his sea tales for passers by.
Armadillo Acres, Wednesday, 1/22
For decades I thought we owned property in Gopher Hole Estates, and as it turns out, it was Armadillos all along. We made our annual inspection pilgrimage to our property in Silver Spring Shores today. Bouyed by the truism that a rising tide floats all boats we had visions of rampant development engulfing our lone forlorn lot. Alas, all was as we found it last year. But with the resolve of visionary developers who could forsee the vibrant community to be when our son is a grandfather we gleaned two black trash bags of Icehouse Ale empties from our dream retirement site. We ferreted out Lake Griffin State Park between Ocala and Orlando and are now being serenaded by tree frogs on the trunks of blooming Red Bud trees. There is a launch ramp ( watch out for Alligators) and lake access, but we did not take advantage of it.
Lake Tohopekaglia (Sleeping Tiger) Thursday 1/23
With all that water in Central Florida's Lake Country a fella surely could launch his boat somewhere and take a sail. Off drove the Mariner in search of a ramp. Onward we drove only to encounter trickles where adequate water depth should have allowed a place to put in. What's that you say? The lake has been drained down 5' for maintenance. Shiver me timbers! That sort of thing isn't done on the oceans.
All of the West Lake Toho is slated for improvement to its shoreline. It seems that clearing the accumulated debris and muck in the exposed lake shore and replacing it with sand sends the Bass population soaring since this is where they breed. And Bass is what it is all about on Florida lakes. While thwarted in our quest for daysailing we did spend a bucolic night at Southport Park campground. Flocks of cranes gather here, and pairs are seen gleaning lawns. Their size makes them impressive: as big as a goose but with stork-like legs and a jaunty red crest.
Orlando Time Share Condo, Jan 25-31
It's Friday, the 24: too soon for our 1 week Orlando Condo reservation. We'll give East Lake Toho a try. Eureka! The municipal St. Cloud Marina has an excellent ramp with plenty of water. We were rewarded for our perseverance with a great spinnaker sail. The Sleeping Tiger remained sleeping: no squalls or rising winds to spice up lowering the spinnaker when day was done. The lake has a diameter of 4 miles and is about 16' deep in the center, gradually shoaling towards the shoreline. It would be a perfect place for a mid-winter Macgregor Regatta. It was close enough to return to from Orlando for a sunset sail topped by dinner at the Fishing Camp on the opposite shore. The Marina is the jewel in this park. It also has a biking path, picnic pavilion and beach. Locals fill the lot daily for its bucolic respite and the endless fascination of watching boat launches. We left the rigged boat at St. Cloud and headed off for our condo week and mandatory visit with Mickey Mouse. Unfortunately, we failed to check in with the off-site marina management, but luckily returned in time before they had the boat towed away.
Our week in the condo passed quickly. I am impressed in the strides "The Mouse" has made since our last visit with kids in tow. "Disneyline" as we dubbed it then has been tamed. The tedium, and more significantly to Disney, the lost spending time, of shuffling forward in a snake line has been supplanted at major attractions by a speed line alternative. Those who wish may insert their admission card into a machine like a metro fare card. It spits out the ticket and a stub with a ½ hour return window set about 45 minutes in the future. Return during your designated window and proceed by a special line to the front of the queue to be seated ahead of the "shufflers." We spent an enjoyable day at Epcot. We'll save Magic Kingdom for a time when the grandchild can come, too. Disney is building hotel rooms apace and is blending into the surrounding city with its "Downtown Disney" area where no admission applies. It has shops and attractions like Cirque du Soliel and a multi screen movie house.
Near downtown Kissimmee, Jim enjoyed "The Flying Tigers", a collection largely of WW II planes being lovingly restored by individuals who camp beside the airfield hosting the display to happily tinker on their individual project as their Florida family get away. One of Jim's friends passed on to Jim a book profiling WW I pilots: the Bloody Red Baron, French, English and American flyers. Compelled to join forces the French and English never lost sight of their underlying antagonism: "the reason the sun never sets on the British Empire is because God can not trust it in the dark."
The First of February saw us hitched up and heading west on I-4 near the town of Polk, home of the Fantasy of Flight attraction. The Smithsonian in Washington DC has a deluxe anniversary year display of the Wright Brother's Kitty Hawk flight that had us in the mood for more aviation history. Kermit, heir to oil income, has made it his life's work to restore vintage planes in a first class fashion. He has created Disney quality experiences of parachuting from an aircraft, a foxhole adjacent to a vintage airstrip, and simulated air dog fights while seated in a flight simulator. Guided tours of restoration, observing take-off and landing, bi-plane rental rides easily fill up a day at this most engaging airplane display.
Trip I or Trip II ?
In the week before our departure Jim took a call from the owner of a Gemini catamaran, "La Palapa" (The Beach House). A year and a half ago the owner took delivery in Miami and hired Jim as the delivery Captain bound for Costa Rica. The trip was aborted after a week, and the boat hauled out at Stock Island, just north of Key West. After the prolonged hiatus while he got his affairs in order he touched base to say he was ready to resume the delivery in February, '04 if Jim was available. We had in mind towing our MacGregor to Key Biscayne, launching and heading to the Bahamas. That would be Trip 1. But storing the MacGregor and moving "La Palapa" to Costa Rica would be an acceptable Trip II, partially duplicating our Ruta Maya trip aboard the MacGregor 65 (Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala in 2001).
February 2, Super Bowl Sunday
Sarasota, home of cousins Mark and Linda , who have graciously included us in their plans to watch the big game at a friend's country club. We were parked in front of their door by noon and were wisked off to see the game, where Jim lost $40 on the pool.
February 3, Punta Gorda
Punta Gorda can only mean Chip and Barb. As a bonus, mutual friend Dave was there, too. Three boat brokers together and the yarns they can spin. Jim is an animated speaker, but Dave surpasses him. It was a rollicking visit, and I am only sorry it wasn't filmed. I can't remember when I have laughed so hard for so long. Dave is here to install teak in one of the bathrooms. Barb's dream is to be selected for an HGTV episode of "Extreme Homes." A few years ago we sailed a Macgregor 26x from Marco Island right up to Chip and Barb's back door. Charlotte Harbor is a great sailing destination. We'll continue south to Cape Coral and let the workers get started.
Friends Greg and Monique picked up a rental house on a canal in Cape Coral. After trying yearly rentals, they have decided to go after the seasonal vacation market-and use it as a family compound, too. They spent Christmas there with Greg's extended family. Not only do you need furniture but a dock and pool to compete. We stopped by to check Greg's boat and verify the pool was ready. We were tempted to take the first plunge ourselves but lit out to see what else there was to see in Ft Meyers and Bonita Springs.
Evening on the 4th found us on the tip of Bonita Springs on a lot slated for 4 townhouses to be built. Boat slips were at the back of the lot. Across the street is the Gulf of Mexico. A local encouraged us to "stay put" for the night because there was nowhere else. In the morning we drove up and down the strand. He was right. Antique mobile homes in a 60 unit enclave sell for the cost of a townhouse at home. Islands are where it is at for Realty price jumps.
Thursday, February 5-8, Key West
If its warm weather you want, you keep heading south until you are at the tip of the Keys. We checked into Boyd's Marina and Campground on Stock Island, adjacent to Key West, launched the MacGregor, tied it in its slip, and headed for the pool. Our campsite sits alongside the waterfront about 20 yards from our boat slip. The pool water approximates a hot tub, and the high for the day is 81 degrees. I could get used to this style of Florida.
Maybe we'll head for the Dry Tortugas. On a previous trip I sailed a Macgregor 26x powersailor to the Dry Tortugas, about 70 miles west of Key West. Or maybe not. Damn it, they fixed the pool thermostat. Now the water is "refreshing." Before, the bathers had stayed in for hours at a stretch until we were teasing about it being the Fountain of Youth.
Island Ambition is overtaking Jim. Why go to the Tortugas? We can daysail to the City (Key West) and check out the bars. Boyd's is growing on us. Every morning we head out for a little sail. The first volunteer camper to accompany us was 53yr old "Huck" from Pa. He had been vacationing here every year since 1976, and had never been sailing. The blustery winds and 2'-3' waves gave him an exciting baptism. Unfortunately he slipped off the bow while assisting in docking and fell into the shallow water, injuring his ribs and arm. Next time we saw him he had a sling and body wrap for strained shoulder and cracked ribs. We felt awful about it, but Huck was cheerful and uncomplaining, great attributes in a shipmate. Lesson - avoid "help" from novices, just leave'em in the cabin while you dock. I could have backed up to the pier and stepped off the transom with a stern line and long bow line, easily managing the tie up by myself.
On another day we sailed to Key West, about 5 miles and a perfect beam reach under main and jib. After lunch and a walking tour of downtown bars, we decided to return the back way, sailing on the northern side of the Keys to the bridge that separates Stock Island from Big Pine Key ( I think). We just dropped the mast and motored under the bridge, raising the mast again on the other side. This is a pretty neat trick and only a few other boats can do it.
The ramp at Boyd's was a little tight , so I might recommend the ramp at Oceanside Marina, but they no longer provide storage for the tow vehicle and trailer, so you have to go to Peninsula Marine about 1 block away and make storage arrangements, $10/day. You can still launch at the Key West Bight marina, but parking space for the tow rig is limited. Due to boat delivery obligations the Macgregor trip was cut a little short this year. Still, we launched three times, raised the mast twice, and spent about 8 days sailing. The Bahamas will still be there next winter!
Trip II, "La Palapa" To Panama
Kevin and Ani (On-ee) are an engaged couple fresh out of college who sailed with us one perfect day on the Macgregor while we were at Boyd's campground. Now they're hooked. He is a California fire fighter who repels from helicopters into forest fires. In the wet season he has off to travel. Ani is a landscaper, also footloose when the ground is frozen at home. In addition, she is a ballroom dancer. Jim told his other crewmate Wally she was an exotic dancer to piqué his interest in helping sail to Panama if conditions are favorable. La Palapa's final destination is the Pacific side of Costa Rica at the little town of Quepos. Meanwhile, Boyds is right around the corner from the boat yard. Kevin and Ani came by to check out the Gemini and pitched right in wiping her down and bending on sails. Since they just 'happened" to have their passports, they agreed to crew until they were tired of it. They stayed to the bitter end, over 30 days. Bottom painting is set for the 13th . Wally flies in the 15th with "patches" for the young green crew to keep them from getting green around the gills. As exciting as sailing the Ruta Maya was for me on the 65' I'm going to stay behind this go round. It's hard to top the perfection of my first trip. Let the "La Palapa" Adventures begin!
The itinerary was Key West to Isla Muheres, Mexico via the coast of Cuba, about 335miles, then along the coast of Mexico south to Belize, about 250 miles, then inside the reef through the Belize islands maybe 50 miles, then to Roatan, Honduras, another 100 miles, then around the tip of Honduras to Isla Providencia, about 365 miles, 265 miles more to Panama, 35 miles through the canal, and finally 480 miles to Quepos, Costa Rica. About 1900 miles total. It took over 30 days, including a 5 day layover in Panama and deserves a write-up of its own. A Macgregor Powersailor could probably have done it faster, maybe we'll see one day! When I finally returned to Key West, all was as I had left it, except much dustier. A quick 1200 miles later, the Macgregor was once again safely back at her home port.
--Happy Sailing and great trailerable adventures from Capt Jim and first mate Joyce!
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