Month: August 2019

Here we go….As we passed under the bridge, I hurried to get all my gear ready. We had been told that the Canadian locks were much different than those we have encountered and, at this point, I had no idea if that was a good thing.

To my delight, it was definitely a positive development. Since we were now in fresh water, the lock walls did not have that slimy decor. Also, the cables hanging from top were covered in rubber so my line would slide up easily. And God bless the Canadians…they required two people to secure the boat in the lock, so Captain Duane was put on stern duty which helped my arms out greatly.

The locks were manual which meant the lock crew had to actually crank the doors open and close. It reminded me of the classic playground Merry-Go-Round ride which was powered by running around in a circle and then jumping on. Duane, of course, had to get in on the action. After observing the method a few times, he went up to the lock master and lent a hand. A little dizzy on the return, we took off down the canal… albeit not in a straight line.

The scenery on this stretch of the trip was unlike anything we have seen. It was nail biting at some points as the canals were so narrow we prayed another boat did not appear in the distance coming our way.

That night we decided to throw anchor and enjoy the serenity. I’m still unsettled by the whole one with nature concept and make my rounds at night to lock us in securely. Duane just rolls his eyes as I barricade the door.

There are really no words to describe the sunrise…fog was rolling in as the orange rose over the dunes creating the most picturesque backdrop. When I opened the door to let in the morning breeze, I saw the back deck caked in Kamikaze mosquitoes whose efforts to invade were hampered by my nightly lock down…guess I managed to keep out these dangerous intruders.

As we pulled anchor and turned back into the channel, I read up on the locks we will be tackling today. We were much anticipating the double lock which will be a new experience for us. There are two such crossings on the waterway and, for each, two locks share a common wall. Going inside the lock was daunting as the second wall towered over us on the other end. After going through over 40 locks, Duane still proceeds to exclaim ” here it goes” once the doors bang close and the valves are open. It’s not like I’m going to miss the whirlpool of water brewing below the bow trying to twist the boat sideways, but he always gives me the heads up.

After tying up at Old Mill Park in Campbellford next to the famous $2 coin, we unstrapped the bikes from the bow and went to explore. Being tourists for the day, we hit all the hot spots. First we rode along the channel to view the lock from a different perspective. Next stop was to the World’s Finest Chocolate outlet where we purchased 8 lbs of chocolate before biking 6 miles to the Empire Cheese and Co-op farm. The store was small but I felt we needed to load up on cheese to make the ride along the country road mostly uphill worthwhile. Needless to say, we will be eating chocolate and cheese until we hit Florida. Dooher’s bakery was our final destination in town. It was voted the number one bakery in Canada and for good reason. We have been hearing about butter tarts non-stop since we entered Canada and finally had our chance to sample the maple filled pastry which were absolutely outstanding. Good thing they are not readily available as I would have to run up and down the fly bridge stairs constantly to work off the calories.

Following boating etiquette, I have begun to wave at people passing on the street when we are on foot to which I get some raised eyebrows. Canadians are super friendly so I usually get the obligatory wave back.

To get some weight off the boat, we gave some chocolate to the lock crews the next day. The Healey Falls flight lock was the second double lock raising us 54 feet and one of the last locks in the Trent Region of the waterway. It was a very rainy day so once we passed Hastings, we turned into a crook off the channel and dropped anchor in the Otonabee River. We intended to barbecue, but the swarm of mosquitoes won and we ate cold leftover chicken and broke open a bottle of wine to ease our disappointment.

Tomorrow we will come face to face with the gigantic architectural wonder–the Peterborough Lift Lock.

Looking out over the breakwater onto Lake Ontario brought back memories of that dreaded day we left 14 days ago. We were told we had a weather window and needed to jump on it early as the waves were to pick up the next few days on the lake. So, armed with a pocket full of Gin-Gins, a sweatband on each wrist (I think it’s a gimmick, but the distraction keeps my mind off the roller coaster) and some ginger snap cookies, I took my place next to the captain and off we went — destination Canada!

One foot seas were predicted…in actuality what ensued were more like three foot swells which were unrelenting. I think Duane actually likes when I think it’s a rough ride, because I volunteer to drive since I can brace myself under the steering wheel. But, this situation is often short-lived as he has a look of terror on his face the whole time the drunk snake is at the helm. The choppy ride lasted for most of the 35 miles across until we were in protected waters, but it was actually bearable.

Our destination was Picton Harbor in Ontario. We needed to clear customs and tie the boat up for the night. Upon arrival, we were greeted by the Canadian Navy who blocked our entrance until we provided the required paperwork, but we were able to bribe them with hot dog buns.

Map in hand we walked around Picton, our first taste of Canada. We stumbled upon a brewery and listened to live music as we enjoyed some local beers. And when I say stumbled, I mean it is a good thing I was in charge of the map and am an expert at deciphering the location markings for food and drinks.

We shoved off for Trenton the next morning. It was now Saturday and we were on day 15 of the trip. Duane has currently become tired of me asking how long it will take to get to our next stop, so he has turned my days into a math lesson. Distance = Speed X Time. I have, in turn, stopped with the “are we there yet” inquiries.

Trent Park Marina was beyond what we even could have expected. We met our first Harbor Hosts, Eric and Karen, aboard their boat, Tropical Horizons. They were so gracious and informative about the areas we would be visiting giving us the ins and outs of the Canadian waters. In addition, they provided us with a detailed booklet which will be my bible the next few weeks.

Trent Port Marina was also by far the nicest marina we have docked at. Along with individual shower pods, they had a free laundry facility and public barbecue area. For a few hours I felt like I was at a spa and relaxed in the boater’s lounge to catch up on the news realizing we have missed nothing. Eventually Duane tracked me and the newly laundered sheets down so he was able to go to sleep.

Tomorrow is a big day…we will be starting our trip on the Trent-Severn Waterway and going back into the Lock system. 44 locks over the course of 240 miles. We will lock up to a whopping 841 feet above sea level before beginning a steady decline to 578 feet above sea level at Port Severn. Good thing I remembered to put my lock gloves in the washing machine.

The next three days we traversed the remaining 16 locks we needed to encounter on the Western half of the Erie Canal before we reached Three River Junction and turned onto the Oswego Canal toward Canada.

Since we left so late in the season, we rarely saw another boat motoring up or down the canal. But, I still had the impulse to turn every time I heard an engine in the distance only to be disappointed to realize that it was the traffic passing overheard as we drove under the highways. This leg of the trip was VERY peaceful and downright trance inducing. My only excitement at some points was the thrill I had flipping the page on the navigational map book after I counted every single buoy in that stretch leading up to our next waypoint.

We had a groove going in the locks now and to add some exhilaration to the day, we switched to the starboard side to lock through on a whim. Duane was becoming an expert at maneuvering us into the lock even with the eddies pushing us in every direction on approach. He was also getting much better at not cutting me out of the selfies.

The first night we stopped right after Lock 14 at the Riverfront Park Wall in Canajoharie. The mosquitoes have been out in full force and we both smelt like a tossed salad going to bed as I doused us both in vinegar.

The next day we tied up at the Little Falls Terminal Wall, but not before we experienced Lock 17 which would lift us 40.5 feet above sea level—the largest elevation on the canal. Looking up at the wall was very intimidating as I scrambled to get myself in place and not be impaled by the bicycle strapped to the bow.

Little Falls was a small quiet town, equally as inviting, as we were soon greeted by Mr. Ray who was a member of the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) established by FDR to relieve unemployment during the Great Depression. Boy did he have some stories along with a suggestion to visit the town library which I am so glad we took. Located in a valley on both sides of the Mohawk River, Duane did not hesitate to point out the not so thick wall holding the water at bay.

Along the walk we happened upon a small local bar equipped with an old school jukebox belting out 80’s tunes. We stopped by for a Captain and Ginger which were $3.50 a drink… so we had two.

The next morning we took off toward Sylvan Beach Pier passing the town of Rome along the way….this is where the construction of the Erie Canal all began. During this time we tackled our first descending locks… which I was pleasantly surprised were much less stressful on the brain and the arms.

Sylvan Beach Pier reminded me of my childhood days spent at Rye Playland, but now they had wine slushies. I have to admit that, for once, Duane did beat me in air hockey but I earned enough tickets to trade in for 8 pieces of blueberry taffy.

After a good night’s sleep, we had one more lock to take on and then we were off to the Oswego Canal. Cruising across Oneida Lake was picturesque on such a calm day. Note to self….touching the radar after eating Doritos is almost as bad as using the magic eraser on the hull.

On the way to our next stop, Pirate’s Cove Marina, we stopped for gas at Winter Harbor and were invited to help ourselves to fresh vegetables and herbs right on the dock. After each stop we marveled on how hospitable and accommodating the people were that we have encountered… and we are still in New York!

Pirates Cove Marina was by far the best stop we have had on the trip. Not only did I receive a welcome package, they had the transmission seal that Duane desperately was searching for to cure our leakage issues. If that wasn’t enough for us to give them 5 stars, they had a courtesy car we were permitted to take to town and load up with supplies…no strapping the cooler to my back today.

The next morning we departed and made a right at the fork onto the Oswego Canal. The ride was pretty much the same as the last few days….green as far as the eye can see, calm waters and a log or two (most of the time it was just a duck which I mistook for a log from the distance…go figure.) We completed all seven descending locks in the 24 miles without incident and decided to hunker down for the night at the Port of Oswego Marina at the mouth of Lake Ontario. A band was playing in the town square as we had a cocktail preparing for the crossing tomorrow into Canada.

Today is the day…we set out early and crept up to our first lock…the Troy Federal Lock. But not before…drum roll please…we floated under our token bridge of the day– Castleton on the Hudson.

Technically the Troy lock is still on the Hudson River, but that did not make the situation any less intimidating. As we came closer to the structure, it seemed more like a scene from Jurassic Park than a gateway to the Erie Canal. Gargantuan metal doors hid the chamber we would be sealed in as the water filled and raised us up over sea level. Right next to the massive metal doors, a tidal wave of water was rushing at us from the dam and, with no time to think, we were given the green light to proceed inside. I stood on the bow with my boat hook in hand and waited to see what was in store for us now.

As we passed through the gates, the Jurassic Park analogy was spot right down to the ominous bang of the enormous doors to signal we were locked in. At this point we had to choose to grab weighted lines that hung from the top of the lock walls or put a line around the cable running down the recess on the wall. I decided to put my line around the cable and hold tight as the lines hanging from the wall were disgusting and slimy. Soon the water was bubbling around us and we felt the boat rising. I held tight and pulled the line to keep us against the wall as the force of the water was doing its best to push us around. It felt like an eternity, but the water finally stopped flooding the chamber and the doors on the other end creaked open. Duane started the engines as I pulled the line from the cable and pushed us off the wall. Lifted 14 feet… Lock 1 down…..100 or more to go.

Being sprung from the lock, I let out a sigh of relief. At the fork in the road, we took off to the Erie Canal without any hesitation. Stopping in Waterford, we were able to tie up the boat and walk to the second lock in order to get a bird’s-eye view of the whole process. Duane, of course, was preoccupied with the machinery behind the system. I was just amazed by the shear force of the water barreling against the doors.

The next 5 locks were aptly named the “Waterford flight” as they would lift us the greatest height in the shortest distance of any canal in the world–About 169 feet over the course of a mile and a half. My ears are popping just thinking about it.

Each lock on the Flight had their own deceptive charm from the outside, but inside the concrete walls with layers of sludge looked familiar. As we soon realized, the situation could get hairy at any minute. Sometimes the boat would swing out from the force of the water and I was practically lifted off my feet trying to wrangle the line hanging from the wall and get the 10 tons back into position.

Being ambitious that day, we set out to accomplish 2 more locks. Duane kept updating me on the dark cloud formations rolling in so I should have guessed mother nature had other things in store for us. Once we left Lock 6, the lock master told us to give him time to drive over and open the guard gate. Not really sure what he was taking about, we both smiled and waved…then I saw it. Two tremendous structures resembling a guillotine that could probably chop the boat in half were right in our path. We were told that these gates were built every five miles on the canal in order to provide protection to the land below in case of an emergency or to close off a section of the canal when a lock needed to be repaired.

As soon as we made it to Lock 7, the skies turned black and we heard thunder in the distance. We were not more than a quarter mile passed the lock when the skies opened and lightening was streaking across the sky. Duane was now in full apocalypse mode as I cleaned up the peanuts that spilled on the fly bridge in the excitement. Not being able to see 10 feet in front of us as we were pelted with rain, we dropped anchor right in the channel and waited out the storm. After about 30 minutes (a long 30 minutes which I was trying to use productively but kept getting summoned to marvel at how it was raining sideways), we pulled up the anchor and took advantage of a lull in storm. No more locks today…we took refuge for the night at the Schenectady Yacht Club and called it a day. Hot showers and homemade pizza from the gas station were our reward after an exciting day on the canal. Tomorrow we will tackle Lock 8 and move on…

The 50 plus mile trip to New York City was like riding on a sheet of glass. It was thankfully an uneventful trip…well, until it wasn’t.

To start the drama off, a yacht about 7 times our size decided not to be courteous and at high speed passed our port side without even a toot of his horn. The wake that ensued was nothing short of a tsunami in my eyes. As we violently shook like we were in a bell tower, I tried to hold on for dear life as I grasped at everything being tossed around the flybridge. To our amazement, there was only one casualty of war, the anchor light. Guess that was our sacrifice to the water gods that day.

As we passed under the Throgs Neck Bridge and into the East River, I was welcomed home with the sounds of sirens blaring and the incessant chime of horns honking. The skyline was becoming clearer and expanding before our eyes. It was so surreal seeing the surroundings from this point of view.

Once we passed Ward’s Island and entered Hell’s Gate on the East River, the water churned below us in every direction. Duane was an expert navigator as I sat and cringed as the ferries swarmed around us shuttling people all over the city. It was the water version of rush hour in Times Square.

Every bridge we passed under had its own distinct architectural beauty. And the familiar sounds of the subway rumbling overhead brought a smile to my face and ear plugs to Duane’s ears.

Passing by the Empire State Building, the United Nations, South Street Seaport and the Freedom Tower, our ultimate destination was the Statue of Liberty.

In the 5 years we have dated, it has been Duane’s obsession to visit the statue. I, growing up in NY, have never had any desire to be up that close and personal on a small island with thousands of tourists. So this is what he settled for…anchoring 500 feet off Liberty Island for the night.

I have to say, the view was breathtaking. As we barbequed our ribs off the back side of the island and popped open a bottle of Rose’, we marvelled at the enormity of it all. Then a jetskier flew by and almost made fish food of our dinner.

That night we were rocked to sleep by a very tumultuous babysitter who left the lights on all night. It was the experience of a lifetime, but the next morning we bid Lady Liberty farewell and took off to the comfort and protected area of the marina. Along the way we passed Ellis Island, the Central Railway Terminal and the “Empty Sky” memorial in Liberty State Park.

That day I spent getting our act together and organizing our living space before we took the 10 minute ferry ride to downtown Manhattan to have farewell drinks with friends. It was so amazing to see great friends and family one last time before we left to explore parts unknown. Our time together flew by and we were soon waving to everyone as we took off on the last ferry back to the boat. I soon realized the next year will be filled with many firsts as my last Happy Hour is NYC was now over. I had very mixed emotions about this…Duane was just relieved he was able to drag me on the ferry without incident and we were not stranded across the river.

It will be an early morning rise the following day to continue our trip up the Hudson to the Erie Canal. Fingers crossed the calm waters persist.

After getting beat up the first day of the trip, we had a relatively calm ride into New York landing in Port Jefferson Harbor in the early afternoon. We rose at the crack of dawn, but it was well worth the search for my sweatshirt as our first sunrise was spectacular.

Port Jeff was buzzing with boaters and crowds of people were enjoying Sunday Funday. Danford’s Marina had numerous yachts which dwarfed our Bella Donna, but once we settled into our mooring, cold drink in hand after the long ride, we couldn’t have been happier on our floating abode.

One of the realizations we had today is that I have no patience for driving…or steering I should say. Hopefully in the next 5,917 miles my skills will improve and I’ll stop looking like a drunk snake slithering along the water. According to Captain Duane, I am very detrimental to our our fuel consumption.

Another realization was that I have little or no concept of how to read the radars. To my defense one tracks us north and the other south so trying to follow the navigation line is tricky, even with two good eyes. Nice trying to confuse a girl at 5:30 in the morning. The little yellow blobs remind me of an old Atari game. But, all I have to remember is that as long as none of the blobs invade our circle, I’m all good.

To our delight, we had great friends who I had known my whole life come to the marina to see us before we departed. Linda, Lauren and her daughter Katie waited for us to take the water taxi ashore and we all walked down the waterfront. After treating us to a delicious dinner (which Duane appreciated since I’ll be making cold cut sandwiches the next few days) and handing us a bottle of champagne, they wished us well on the rest of the journey.

Next stop….New York City!!

So the adventure begins…finally. As of 9am this morning, we are officially Loopers. 35 miles and 5 hours later, we are safely anchored in Hamburg Cove on the Connecticut River. We couldn’t have asked for a better send off this morning. As our friends at Harboredge woke up early to bid us farewell aided by the official conch shell trumpet, we turned out of the marina waving as they disappeared into the distance. Now, we were on our own.

Originally we planned to make the 60+ mile trek to Port Jefferson, but the Long Island Sound and our beloved Bella Donna had other plans for us. The wind was whipping and 3 to 5 foot waves made us feel like we were in a blender. Gin-Gins (great little ginger chews) are always my go to for the rough trips, but there is nothing comfortable about being thrown from side to side every few seconds, so our plan was aborted and we turned up the river to calmer waters and headed toward the Saybrook Breakwater lighthouse. To add insult to injury on our first day, the starboard engine was stalling with every slap of a wave against the hull. The Captain was beside himself trying to get a handle on the issue and my stomach was in knots fearing the trip was over before it even had begun. We decided to take a deep breath, drop the anchor and regroup. Finally being able to come down from the fly bridge, the interior of the boat looked like someone ransacked it. As soon as the anchor was set, I had a lot of straightening up to do. To my dismay, the 20 or so pairs of socks that absolutely had to accompany us on the trip according to the Captain, were strewn all over the V-berth.

Settling in to a quiet spot, I was trying to relax and not show how nervous I was over the engine problems while picking up all the cookies that scattered when the first wave came over the bow. Little did we know, a wedding was going to be taking place right across from our anchorage so I was able to get some cleaning motivation from Neil Diamond and the Captain suddenly had a revelation…maybe it was as simple as the ignition switch and not the engine at all. Taking off to the flybridge, I waited in the salon with high hopes, as he tested his theory. After meticulously cleaning the switch and replacing the connection, he was fairly confident that we were back on track.

So ends our first official travel day. As Sweet Caroline plays, the water slaps against the hull and Duane snores next to me, I look forward to the days to come. But, first we must make it out of Connecticut. Tomorrow is another day.