Changing Times and Unexpected Pleasures

After cruising on Kintala for six years, it's hard to overstate the difference in the lifestyle that being on a trawler as a Looper is, especially since we've entered the river system. On Kintala—mostly open ocean miles and the occasional ICW stint—life was pretty routine. Passages were long for the most part, and somewhat tedious, and on approaching land we almost never took a dock, choosing to anchor along the way, which was almost always a financially-based decision. On First Light, we've had to take a dock by mechanical necessity far more than we would have liked. But it must be said that the Looper lifestyle is much more about docks and much less about anchoring anyway.

Back when we were on Kintala, before Starlink, anchorages were pretty much a social affair. Dinghies zoomed back and forth between boats, a cooler of beverages and food to share stashed in the bottom. Sundowners lasted till the wee hours in whatever cockpit was large enough to handle whomever had been invited. The crowd was more diverse in age, with young people bringing the energy to the gathering that us older ones lacked. In recent months, we've been hearing reports from full-time cruisers from many different cruising grounds that with the advent of Starlink, those sundowners are rapidly disappearing. Cruisers are choosing to spend the time with a television instead of with each other, a trend that makes me glad that we retired early and got to experience the best of that community before it changed.

Whenever they happen (not often) in the Looper world, sundowners are classed as "docktails". Chairs are brought out to whatever dock happens to be the stop for the night and beverages of various types accompany the telling of stories. Sometimes there are picnic tables along a free wall that are utilized, and less often a trip to a local restaurant provides the venue. For the most part, the travel schedule is pretty relentless on The Loop, so the time after docking is sometimes filled with food shopping and dog walking instead of socializing. As a result, I often feel a bit unmoored and if it weren't for the fact that I'm traveling with my best friend of 52 years I would feel pretty isolated.

One thing that has really helped with the feeling of community has been Nebo, a tracking and chatting app that nearly all Loopers use. It provides incredibly detailed voyage logs so I don't have to do them anymore (They email it to you automatically at the end of every trip and a monthly summary to boot!), and has a chatting platform so you can converse with other Loopers near you. I will probably do a full review post later after we finish the trip but I have to say that it's probably the best $200 we spent in preparing for this trip.

This trip along the inland rivers has also highlighted the impact that climate change and the destruction of natural resources has had on the environment. We have seen much, much less wildlife of any kind on this trip than we did when cruising on Kintala.  Many less dolphins and birds on the ocean passage portion of the trip, and absolutely not a single evidence of wildlife along the Hudson and Mohawk rivers or the Erie Canal. I looked constantly along the shore at the trees that have fallen in the water and where one would expect there to be a line of turtles sunning on the log, there were none. No squirrels, no deer coming for a drink, and only two herons the whole way up the river. The only birds in proliferation were the Canada geese and I'm not entirely certain that there's anything that will kill those things.  To add to that, the history we've learned by stopping at museums along the way has us deeply concerned. There were two whole exhibits at the Hudson River Maritime museum just to address the pollution of the river from the PCBs that General Electric dumped into the river. There are huge signs in the museum warning that you cannot eat any fish you catch in the river. The beautiful Oneida Lake that we just crossed yesterday is the fifth most polluted lake in the United States.

People talk all the time about living in the moment, savoring each experience to the fullest, but after last year I believe we can claim to understand that philosophy in a manner better than most. So, in spite of all the changing times, the true joy for me in this adventure has been the unexpected pleasures we've encountered along the way. The scent of wet pine needles on the Erie Canal, the amazing walking trail in Little Falls, the mountains emerging from the fog, the stunning fireworks display in Amsterdam, the amazingly helpful, knowledgeable, and courteous people that we've met in businesses like Tim in Delaware City and JT in Kingston and Jamie at Lock 17 and Mike here in Phoenix, just to name a few. And the best of all was last night. A bit after six o'clock, a large group of folks started gathering under the pavilion in the park next to the boat carrying instruments of all sorts: wind instruments, brass instruments, percussion instruments...and as they set up an even larger group of town folk began to populate the park with lawn chairs and picnics and much laughter. We had the best seat in the house. Our boat is in the free wall not 50 feet from where the band was playing. I sat in the cockpit with a cold drink and my feet up and enjoyed the music for over two hours. What an absolutely delightful pleasure and so very unexpected. And that, my friends, is what living in the moment is all about.

 

Off on a muse...

How to describe last night...A squadron of mosquitoes found a hole in our defensive screens and nets, spending the night making attack runs on various portions of our anatomies. Whatever ammunition they were carrying affected me far more than Deb. My left hand and right foot felt like they had been set on fire. Everywhere they struck felt like a cigarette burn. We started a counterattack, but the little buggers overwhelmed my defenses and after taking what felt like a shower of bug spray, getting fully clothed, and applying even more bug spray, I abandoned the forward berth for the salon couch. That helped a little, but some of the enemy were very determined, ignoring the spray defense and managing to bite through the clothing. Deb mounted an offense, dispatching more than a dozen of the attackers before dawn came. I managed a few minutes of troubled sleep in the salon, but I haven't had a night that bad since the last time my wayward ticker landed me in the ER. I was glad to see the first light of dawn.

By 0630 we were leaving the dock and heading out across Lake Oneida. What little wind there was flowed in from the stern, making for a perfectly comfortable crossing. Once off the lake, we rejoined the Erie Canal for a while, motoring along through a boat MECCA unlike any I have ever seen before. Mile after mile of private docks and marinas packed with boats lined both sides of the canal. Eventually we came to a literal fork in the waterway. To port lay the Erie Canal and a path west; to starboard lay the Oswego River, the path to Lake Ontario and the Thousand Island areas of the US and Canada. First Light swung to starboard and said goodbye to the Erie Canal.

A short time later, and we were tied to the wall in a place called Phoenix. A town that is the exact opposite of what the name “Phoenix” usually invokes. We were met at the free wall by a gaggle of young volunteers called The Bridgehouse Brats, eager to help transient boaters. They helped us secure the lines, and then offered to cater our lunches to us for tip money only. My lunch came complete with a cold beer, so I actually had to walk to the establishment with the volunteers as local ordinances make it illegal for the young ones to tote the evil brew. They walked back carrying the food while I carried the beer.

(Ed note: those easily offended should bail out now. I promised I'd warn you of political musings.)

Americans’ irrational sense of propriety is a constant source of amusement to me. I just love it when “righteousness” turns into foolishness. Something, which (having spent the last part of my aviation career working with foreign pilots), much of the rest of the world also seems to find amusing, though they often find it puzzling and a bit worrisome as well. I gave up worrying about the US a long time ago. Whatever our future holds is beyond anything I have any control over. Perhaps we will survive as a first-world, functioning democracy. Perhaps we will go the way that every elitist empire humankind has ever known has gone. Lost to greed, corruption, and hubris.

I can, and will, vote. We all can, and my guess is that most of those who read this blog, do. But I live in a deep red state so my vote will not mean much. Those who live in deep blue states but whose views of what “democracy” actually means are opposite of mine? Well, their votes don't really count much either, one of the puzzling things that comes with living in a Representative Republic that hides behind the label of “Democracy.” We vote. But then an Electoral Collage, a gerrymandered House, a Senate whose structure means the minority generally rules, and a Supreme Court of lifetime appointees for whom nobody voted, decides who takes office, what laws are written, and who is held accountable to those laws. Most of us are accountable; a few are immune. Power and money determine into which category one falls. This is the tiny bit of human history of which we are a part. Riding it out while trying not to add to the carnage, maybe even making things a little better within our own little sphere, is what we can do. If I was of a religious persuasion (I'm not) I would think any post-life judgment we might endure would focus on the harm or the good we did as individuals within whatever sphere of influence we had. We have no control over anything else. If it turns out there is a god who disagrees with me? One who actually endorses lies, genocide, violence, prejudice, oppression, and hate? Nothing I can do about that.

A few days ago, I was pretty happy about the hundreds of miles that lay between First Light and the American coastlines. Far away from hurricanes makes me happy. Yeah—guess I should have kept that thought to myself. The original plan was to spend a more comfortable night here. Then, tomorrow, reposition to Oswego to stage for the trip across the east end of Lake Ontario.  Current weather forecasts for this area include the remnants of hurricane Beryl spinning its way across the US and arriving here on Thursday as a tropical depression packing stiff winds, heavy rain, and thunderstorms. According to the NHC right now, First Light is tied up just at the edge of the Thursday's forecast impact cone. If we move we will be near smack in the center of the zone come Thursday. So we are going to stay right where we are long enough to see just what Beryl has in mind. 

Nothing I can do about that either. 

Leaving the inlet at Lake Oneida

Lake Oneida

Lock 23, the last lock of the Erie Canal. Also the easiest and the prettiest by far.

Hard to tell in the photo, but the center of the photo is the intersection—turn left to continue on to the western half of the Erie Canal, turn right to head up the Oswego Canal

On the Move...

We left the dock this morning in the company of another boat that had been in Little Falls with us. Ahead of us were a few other boats who had been in Little Falls as well, but had left the day Deb and I were taking a day off. Deb was in touch with several of them who were heading for the same destination as First Light, that being a place called Sylvan Beech.

The Weather Man said today was going to be a very calm day. His idea of very calm and my idea of very calm are two different ideas. He wasn't off by more than 15 knots, maybe 20 in the gusts. But today's part of the Erie Canal was completely hemmed in by trees so the winds didn't really matter much. Still, there is an old adage in the aviation world. When the weather forecast gets the winds wrong, pretty much the rest of the forecast isn't even a good guess. But the skies stayed partly cloudy and the weather never took on an attitude.

After the beauty of the Hudson River, the narrow, tree-lined canal made for a long, somewhat tedious day. Throw in five locks along the way and it felt pretty good to be at the day's end. The last two locks let us down rather than picking us up. I have to say going down is a lot easier.

About 30 minutes after the last lock, we started closing in on Sylvan Beach, which is nestled on the shore of Lake Oneida. Earlier in the day, Deb had checked in with some boats who were ahead of us as to dockage space. The news was there was a lot of room. But as we got closer, a miscommunication at the last lock had the lockmaster closing the gate minutes before we got there and thus putting us about 30 minutes behind. Our friends who made the lock were now ahead of us and let us know that the dock was getting pretty full. Fellow Loopers from another boat we had crossed wakes with allowed that “things were getting a little crazy”. That turned out to be a bit of an understatement. As we got closer to the free dock, Pontoon boats (tuners), little speed boats, big speed boats, cigarette boats with monster engines and straight pipe exhausts, center console power boats with 1600 horses hanging off the transom, little pleasure boats, bigger pleasure boats, wave runners, fishing boats, trawlers...every kind of boat one can imagine started filling up the waterway. It was a cacophony of wakes, noise, and color. I had no idea what Sylvan Beach was like, but I wasn't expecting that kind of show.

When we finally made it to the seawall, there was one space left, and it was an awkward fit. But most of the boats where ones we had run across before. We have even managed to catch up with a boat or two that left us behind in Delaware City. So there were a lot of new friends standing by to handle lines and get the boat secured.

From our spot at one end of the wall, Lake Oneida is off of our bow about a quarter mile. It is a pretty big lake. The next leg of the journey takes us along its length from east to west. If the weatherman gets the winds wrong, it will be an ugly ride as there is about 30 miles of fetch from the west. Assuming the weather is close to correct, pretty much every boat on the wall with us will be heading out as well. Since nearly every boat on the wall is also one we have run across before, it is a bit like a reunion run of sorts. Very low key but kind of fun. There is also some good information to be had as some of them have been this way before. All new to us, old hat for them. This “Looper” thing is turning out to be far more interesting than I might have guessed back when we were struggling to get off the dock in Delaware City. Tomorrow may be a bit like being part of the “migration” of cruising boats that we used to join heading south on the ICW each fall. Fewer boats, and heading the other way, but it feels similar. For now, it's just great to be on the move.

Our friends on M/V Shamrock

The guard gates fascinate me. Someone yesterday called them boat guillotines.

The dock at Herkimer

Some of the lock walls are smooth but this one was falling apart. It's very hard on fenders.

Some of the eye candy at Sylvan Beach

Lake Oneida that we will cross tomorrow

Taking a day...

So today's forecast suggested a chance for thunderstorms. From the weather I saw, I wasn't convinced. But it is going to be hot and humid and the sky was full of cumulous clouds. So, do we head out and maybe tangle with some weather? Or do we figure $1 per foot per day is a pretty good deal to be tied solid to a dock here in Little Falls? Yeah, that's what we thought too. We were in the minority though. The boats that lined nearly every foot of wall last night were all gone by 0900. First Light and one boat that has been here since we got here are all that remain.

Any day that we are secured on a dock, Deb and I tend to head out on a long walk. Today was no exception. We started out walking the same trail that we did yesterday. It follows the river back down to the last lock we cleared on the way here, #17. Like yesterday it just so happened that we were there when three boats, some of which we have run across before, motored up to the lock. And, just like yesterday, we chatted with Lock Master Jamie while he did his thing. After letting a torrent of water out of the lock he lifted the guard gate to let the boats in. As the last in line cleared the gate he started letting the gate down even as the boats got settled in, port side to the wall. Gate closed and boats ready, he started the process of letting 5 million gallons of water into the well, lifting the boats a bit more than forty feet. It was quite a show.

Jamie, the lock master at Erie Canal Lock 17

Releasing the water prior to opening the gates

During this trip we have noticed something that came as a bit of a surprise. Those who work along this route to support the movement of boats have been treating us as if we are customers to be valued. Jamie, for example, was more than willing to answer my questions about the lock's operations. One the way here each Lock Master called ahead to the next lock in line, letting them know that we are coming so that the gates are likely to be open for us. We just motor in, grab some lines, and up we go.

In like manner, everyone working at each of the marinas we have stopped at have also been friendly and helpful. It is a noticeable difference from our experiences south of the Chesapeake Bay and, in particular, Florida. There is this general idea of "Southern Hospitality" vs Northern (New York) indifference and/or hostility. But our experience has been that “Southern Hospitality” only applies if you actually live in the South. If you are not from the “South”, hospitality is more of a hit or miss kind of thing and usually (but, to be fair, not always) a miss. “Northern indifference, on the other hand, has been missing altogether. Not once have we been ignored, misinformed, shrugged off, or told “sorry, can't help you.” I'll take "Northern indifference" to "Southern Hospitality" (Hostility?) any day of the week.

In any case, the plan from which to deviate is to start moving again tomorrow.

A little ouchie...

A little ouchie...

A good bit of the Erie Canal is actually the Mohawk River. But after one of the locks today we didn't rejoin the river. Instead we followed an actual canal part of the Erie Canal. It wasn't as narrow, shallow, or overgrown as the Dismal Swamp Canal. But it had its share of prop bending logs floating in it. At one point we motored around a little stump looking thing that could have been nothing much at all. It turned out going around was a really good idea as it was actually a tiny bit of a big chunk of tree fixed solid in the mud. Running over it would likely have had us limping into a marina somewhere for repairs. It is better to be lucky than good.

The actual canal part of the Canal wasn't that long today and, shortly after having missed the tree, we rejoined the Mohawk river. I declared it official. I like rivers. I'm not a big fan of canals. But you have to go where you have to go to get where you want to go.

The day ended at a free dock in a place called “Little Falls.” Our first approach was to a floating dock that looked pretty empty. But as I maneuvered toward that easy touchdown we were informed there were no services on that dock. We needed to move up the river a few hundred feet to tie up to the wall. It isn't as tall a wall as yesterday's wall nor did it have the big rubber permanent fenders installed. And there were a few boats on it already. The only open spot was about 52' long. First Light is 42' long so, lots of room, right? And, actually, it was pretty easy approach since there was neither wind or current complicating the issue. It should have been a no brainer of a parking job. Just when it looked like I had gotten it perfect I let the bow swing in about 1 foot further than I should have. So there is a bit of a white mark on the the wall and a minor ouchie on the hull. You have to look hard to see it. Deb claims it was her fault because she didn't have a fender in the right spot. But I was the one at the helm. So, even though going through 17 locks in the last few days made for a marked improvement in my boat handling skills, it would seem I still have a ways to go. One of the reasons to do new things is to learn new things.

(Ed note: he’s being modest. No way could I have gotten First Light into that spot. He did a great job.)

We are going to spend a couple of nights just to take a bit of a breather. In the last four days we have traveled 129 miles taking a total of 27 hours and 52 minutes. We have cleared 17 locks, anchored once, and been on three different docks. And yes, for the speed demon curious, we averaged 4.6 knots. But that average includes all the time spent in locks, going through 'NO WAKE' zones, and slowing down whenever we are passing small fishing boats, swimmers, (yes swimmers), kayakers, and canoes. The GPS data generally shows that we are actually doing around 7 knots at 1600 rpm when left to our own devices. One of the reasons I think that our fuel pump was going bad long before we saw it leaking is that speed. Before the new pump, we generally showed 6 knots at 1600 rpm and the engines were nowhere near as smooth as they are now.

We have been making what feels like good progress. Something that hasn't been the norm for this trip so far. Even with a little ouchie.

Lock 17, the highest one yet at a 40 foot lift, has a guard gate entrance - the gate lifts up and

You drive under it to get in the lock.

Inside lock 17

40 feet is a long way up

A really nice fireworks display last night in Amsterdam, NY

The Key to Nine Locks

We pulled off the dock and within a few hundred yards were in a lock. Not sure why they call it a “lock”. Maybe the term comes from locking the boat in a giant bathtub. Then filling it up or pulling the plug depending on if you are going up to reach the river level on one side of the dam or going down to river level on the other side of the dam. First Light was going up. And up. And up again and again. We cleared the last of the first five locks of the day less than two hours after leaving the dock. Sometimes we could see the next lock in line almost as soon as we cleared the one we just left. It was an intense way to start a day.

Yesterday we dug out every spare fender we had and rigged the port side of the boat to grind its way up the concrete walls without grinding off fiberglass. Five fenders and one fender board did the trick. The next trick was getting through the open gates and against the wall without looking like a total novice. Though the truth was, when the day started we were total novices at getting a 42' power boat through a lock.

We had a couple of things going our way. The first was that we had all the locks to ourselves. The only lock traffic we saw was two boats waiting to go down as we exited having just come up. In addition, the weather was perfect for the first few locks. Perfect as in no wind. Later the wind picked up.

These locks have ropes hanging down the walls. I would pull the boat up to one line for Deb to grab from the bow. The I would try to swing the stern toward the wall, remember to put both engines in neutral, scamper down the ladder from the flybridge, and grab a line near the stern. Then we would both alternate between pulling the boat back toward the wall and then pushing it away as the inrushing water swirled around, seemingly trying to move the boat in every direction at the same time.

We had read up on the proper procedures to use. One of the warnings repeated over and over again was to never put the ropes on a cleat. But the last few locks that we faced threw in a good amount of wind swirling around along with the water. It was physically impossible to hold the boat in place by just pulling on the rope. So, don't cleat the rope. But run the rope around cleat to add some mechanical advantage. Problem solved.

In addition to the locks we also ran across a "guard gate". A "guard gate" allows the powers that be to isolate a portion of the canal in case of a catastrophic failure of...something. All I know is that one of Lock Tenders had to drive off after we cleared his lock to open the gate for us. Imagine crawling under a guillotine hoping no one trips it at the wrong time.

We saw one other challenge at the locks. Debris. Apparently locks attract logs, branches, and little rafts of assorted propeller damaging junk. The rivers, so far, have been remarkably clear of things to dodge. But the entry and exit from a couple of today's locks involved getting around damage-doing stuff while not banging into the concrete walls lining the entry to the locks. If I do say so myself (And I do) it took some fancy shift / throttle work to get in and out a couple of times. I might be getting the hang of driving this thing.

Shortly after the last lock, we settled in along a “high wall” dock. Never heard of a high wall dock before, but that is exactly what it is. The top of the “dock” is even with our fly bridge. Climb 5 rungs of a steel latter to get off the boat. The wall is well equipped with long, beefy, rubber bumpers and we have three fenders deployed as well. It is okay, but not the kind of dock I would care to be on for very long.

On a completely different subject, right now we are about 130 miles away from the coast south of us, and about 150 miles from the coast east of us. Given that the current hurricane season has just unleashed its first Cat 5 hurricane and did so before July was in full swing? Those two numbers make me smile. There are challenges with being a river boat pilot. There can be lots of traffic, narrow channels, twisty paths that are not always very wide, big boats to work around in close quarters, and locks. The Great Lakes (yet to be transversed) can be as deadly as any ocean. But, all things considered, river travel is far more mellow than is open water sailing. I really do cherish the years we spent on Kintala, and wouldn't trade them away. But if we had retired (the first time) and taken off down the river from St. Louis on America's Great Loop? We know a guy who has done the loop more than 30 times. Around and around and around he goes. I can certainly see the attraction. So far we have seen fabulous vistas, visited interesting towns, and putted long with very little stress and no more at risk than taking a road trip. I'd happily tackle 100 locks rather than a single 0400 foray up to the foredeck to wrestle down a jammed head sail in 20 knot winds on 5 foot seas out in the middle of nowhere. Retirement should be a happy walk at the end of a good life. Not the thing that that kills you. And, so far, this has been a pretty happy walk.

This cop gets to ride his jet ski in the lock several times a day