Arctic Solo Sail

I am convinced the Saint Lawrence River is the most consistently beautiful and interesting waterway in the world.  Every river and waterway has its moments but this one is spectacular from start to finish.  It was clean, blue and replete with wildlife.  The homes on its shores were tidy and maintained by people who care.  The towns, friendly and clear of litter.  They always made me feel welcome. 

The CAP’T LEM sailed from Montreal with a southwest wind and following current.  Such fine sailing is always too short.  When the GPS registered my 2000 nm of the trip I pulled over and anchored in a quiet little inlet to a marsh.   In reflecting on the miles traveled, I counted my blessings; the friends whose encouragement made this possible, the good health I’ve vowed to never take for granted, a lifetime spent on and around the water, the very dream of my childhood come true.  Then I took a nap.  What’s the hurry?  The ice is still melting, the wind is still blowing.  To hurry past anything this river has to offer would be a shame.  To sleep when I’m sleepy and travel when I’m rested is the great gift of freedom.  Refreshed, I sail on.

As I make my way down the river.  I chose my anchorages carefully for they are my protectors.  I will not always have the luxury of so many good ones.  The sunset is about me and I see on the chart “abandon lighthouse” in a cove on an island just before entering Loc Saint Pierre. I drift into position on a dying wind and low the anchor.   The moon is waxing full and I can see by it the lighthouse is abandon only by man and not by nature.  On its top is an osprey nest and the mother brooding her eggs.  Such it is at Lat. 46° 05’ 43.6”N ~ Long. 073° 00’ 02.6”W, on the 4^th day of July in 2009.

The milestones come quickly now. On June 30 the CAP’T LEM departed U.S. waters to enter the Canadian Saint Lawrence River. That day also we crossed the 45th parallel at Long 072° 42’ 46.8”W at 0751. It was over 900 miles ago we crossed south of the 45th to make our way through Lake Huron. Milestones help keep track of how far I’ve come without reminding me of how far I have to go. This is in keeping with my idea of the one mile trip and all those miles behind cannot change the fact that it is the mile in front of me that is the most important.
On Lake St. Francis, we buck a head wind for most of the afternoon until a rain storm overtakes us changing the wind a welcome 180 degrees. We lock through at the Beauharnois locks into Lake St Louis and yet another storm. It chases us into the night and we take refuge in a river mouth I do not know the name of at Lat. 45° 23’ 57.8”N ~ Long. 073° 45’ 10.7”W.
We rise early aboard the CAP’N LEM. Underway we’re overtaken by a large out bounder. I pull out of the channel and make circles so as to not cause him any concern, then follow him all the way to the Sainte Catherine Lock.
Once clear there we skirt the Laprairie Basin to the Saint Lambert Lock. This is the fifteenth and last lock of the trip. I asked the lock tender at the Saint Lambert how far above sea level will we be when the gates opened and he replied “6 meters”. Six meters, close to 18’ after having come down from near 600 feet on the beautiful Lake Superior. Now the river will drop us about two feet for every 10 miles traveled on our way to the salt chuck. We can use the push. So the CAP’T LEM enters the lower St. Lawrence River having traveled 1982 nautical miles.

The CAP’N LEM waited out a storm at anchor off island Ogden in the Saint Lawrence River.  No lightening this time, just a lot of wind and hard rain.  I watched the patterns made by the raindrop hitting the river from my safe haven under the hard dodger.  The wind sweeping from bow to stern left the opening to the hatchway in a little rain shadow yet let to cool delicate smell of the clean air curl back in to cabin.  These are the moments the cruising sailor cherishes, the moments he knows he has experienced something astounding in its simplicity and beauty, something he would have missed had he stayed home.  Such was this little summer storm that moved on and gave up just before sunset.

I came awake to the sound of a loon’s call on the port side and cow’s mooing on the starboard.  Time to go get Tiny.  I need him to go with me through the locks on my way down to Montreal.  It will be a long trip mostly by motor and I was told at the Iroquois Locks I must have two people onboard to transit the other locks down river.  We meet at Waddington New York.  Tiny’s delighted to be on the water and his help and good spirits are always welcome. 

It rainedThe Eisenhower Locks looking east.

the sun dipping behind boldt castle

If I seem to be dragging my feet, I am.  There is still ice off the north coast of Labrador from the ice reports by Canadian Weather.  I’m watching the ice charts almost daily now at the Canadian Ice Service

 Even though past the summer solstice, the days up north will continue to be long and the traffic will be light.  Like a chess game, it’s still early and my moves are all preparatory.  To go out too soon would only make me vulnerable to unforeseen forces.   My strategy is one of wait and run.  It’s just easier to wait in civilization but that opportunity will pass soon enough.   Once at sea I can catnap as I sail, then hove to when I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.  I have a sea drogue to slow the drift and I’ll set my radar alarms, my AIS (automated identification system)alarm  and my drag alarm.  I don’t expect to sleep more than one or two hours in a row, though, but that won’t be a problem.   I rarely sleep straight through the night.  A bump in the night, a shift of the wind, a slap of a halyard and I’m wide awake.   

Josh and Tiny have caught up with me with wonderful tales of their own adventures in THUMPER THE MOTORHOME.  Adventures like Josh driving the motor home through down town Manhattan.  Some things are better I don’t know about in advance.  We three went to see the delightful little movie called UP.  Imagine that, a story about an old man off on an adventure. 

I’ll get underway today to start making my way to Montreal.  I’ve been waiting on some needed soft ware for my AIS unit.  I’ll miss the land of a Thousand Islands and all the beautiful nooks it offers for exploration.  Sometime this afternoon, I’ll cross over the 45^th parallel, that point where I’m half way between the equator and the North Pole.  The next milestone will be my eastern most approach somewhere off Labrador.

Traveling down the Saint Lawrence River reminds me of an oft visited fantasy of my youth where I was a Huck Finn off to see the world by raft. Who isn’t transported to another life by tales of rafts and rivers whether it is Tom and Huck or Mole and Ratty?  Is it the longing of the soul for peace on one side and adventure on the other that keeps me ever curious about the boats on the river and the people on the shore?  Is it that longing, like the poles tug on the compass needle though ever so faint is ever so consistent, that pulls me around each bend searching for yet another quiet secret place to spend the night?  .

 I’m finding such places here of the River Saint Lawrence.  Granted my raft is a bit more “comfortable “ and maneuverable than Huck and Tom’s but Ratty’s assertions about nothing being half so much worth the doing ,  gives honor and meaning to my slow meander down the river.  The towns of Clayton and Alexandria Bay hold me spell bound in their simplicity and beauty.  They are water towns filled with water loving people.  “By Jove, isn’t that Toad Hall over there through the trees?” 

So when one too many mussel boats wakes me senseless, I cut my days travel short and head into a marsh that is just out of sight of the main channel.  Here in only 3 feet of water, the busy world of homes and roads or boats and ships need only be out of sight to be gone from memory.  I’m again in a world I’ve known since childhood fifty-five years ago.  I was born for these days and for places such as this.  

 A heron springs into the air and squawks his resentment at my presents, but he soon forgets his grudge, circles and lands again. Geese and goslings loop around the edges of the reeds, traveling as though on a mission, the older teaching the younger the wonders of the world on the water in preparation for the upcoming lessons on the wonders of the air.  I lower the anchor slowly; almost silently less I become the intruder I don’t want to be.   My bare feet make very little noise on deck but crossing the trampoline, give such a squeak with lacings tightening I resolve not to step on them again but go around only on the akas and amas.  The noise of man’s world is too close as it is for me to be adding any more than I must. 

The boat settles.  My ripples are gone.  I go below to straighten up the constant clutter of too much stuff in too little space but can’t stay there long.  I might miss something.  And I would have too had I not looked just at the right moment at the rocky ledge by the willows to see a mink slip from the water onto the rocks and scurry away.  A marsh is a fine place to spend the afternoon when a cool breeze spins the boat this way and that, changing my view without changing my position.     

I’m grateful The CAP’N LEM only makes 5 knots into the headwinds of the river instead of the 30 or 40 of the roaring cigarette boats out in the channel.  Though I treasure the quiet, I don’t begrudge them their fun.  Tomorrow they will be gone, perhaps back to a life ashore in just as frantic a hurry as their day on the water.  Their time to crave peace and quiet will come, just as mine has.  And should they ever ask me how I found it, I will tell them about the little marsh at Lat. 44° 18’ 44.6” N ~ Long. 075° 57’ 07.3” W   and how it renews my spirit for the miles ahead.

Marsh at sunset