Variety (Mr. Frei)

Photo courtesy of Dave Rosen

Before we started, Brian and I knew that we’d be rowing across a variety of waterscapes. Even a child leafing through a Best Western Road Atlas could easily divine that the Rideau and Richelieu are “canals”, the Ottawa and St. Lawrence are “rivers”, and Champlain and George are “lakes”. Yet one of the unexpected pleasures of this row was, indeed, its variety. This is not to say that each distinct leg was pleasurable; we loved the Rideau, for example, and yet have already cited the explorer Samuel deChamplain, who said of the Richelieu, “…we had all the misery of the world trying to paddle the river upstream.” So did we, Sam. So did we.

Certainly, my earlier rows offered a variety of waterways. In 2006, “The Big Row” carried me down the Hudson and up the Delaware rivers, through some big waters along New Jersey and in the Chesapeake Bay, and through the C&D Canal. Later, the Erie Canal was – no surprise! – a canal with a few lakes sprinkled in, and in 2009, “Mr. Frei Rows to Washington” covered the broad waters of the Chesapeake with the gentle (if heartless) Potomac River pushing back at the very end. But none of these journeys offered so many abrupt transitions between such a variety of waterways. Not all canals, lakes, or rivers are alike. Want to hear some highlights?

As Brian has already shared, the 125-mile Rideau is actually a river joining Lake Ontario with Ottawa through a chain of lakes connected by an elaborate, elegant, beautifully preserved canal system. Our first days on the Rideau were rainy….and yet essentially perfect. No current affected our progress and we rowed for hours at a time bathed in cooling rain, serenaded by the haunting calls of loons, surprised by fish leaping all about, mesmerized by herons soaring silently alongside or overhead, all mirrored by pristine, clear water. The Rideau’s locks – 45 of them – came in clusters and provided both welcome breaks from rowing as well as delightful campsites at the end of each day. The lakes ranged from intimate pond-like bodies connected in chains by narrow passages and canals to larger, twelve-mile lakes calling for care in navigation, an eye to the weather, and perseverance when the wind was on the nose. Brian might agree that if we were to retrace only one leg of our journey, it would be the Rideau. On a five hundred mile journey remarkable for its variety of scenery and setting, the Rideau itself shines as a microcosm of variety. I hope that its pristine natural stretches will remain so; while there are many adorable old-timey cottages and bungalows tastefully sited and only a few McMansions spoiling the landscape, it’s the wide swaths of natural beauty and crystal clear water that make this region such a treasure. Canada, stay on your toes, OK? We didn’t invade this region when we had the chance; now your defense is against “progress” itself. So far, so good…but don’t relent!

RIDEAU LOCK

The Rideau terminates in Ottawa, and rowing through that city has already been documented and described. Our urban rowing, while flanked by countless cyclists, roller-bladers, joggers, walkers, and strollers on paths on either side, was a delightfully relaxed means of sightseeing the city. Brian might have noted some of the pretty joggers keeping a purposeful pace with his boat, or he might not have noted it. I just don’t know. You’ll have to ask him. “The flight” of locks descending the final plummet to the Ottawa River was a picturesque highlight. We were THE tourist curiosities of the day as we descended; our modest rowboats were the only boats occupying an army of lockkeepers that day.

A tourist curiosity

As we cleared the final lock in Ottawa, the intimacy and serenity of the Rideau abruptly gave way to the bustle and breadth of the Ottawa River. The 98 mile downhill run to Montreal was not as downhill as we had hoped; the current was quite mild – maybe one knot or so in the main channel- and the sun came out, baking us for four days straight. We quickly found ourselves wishing that we had savored the Rideau a bit more than we had; the Ottawa’s brownish waters - Yoo Hoo comes to mind - are clean enough for swimming, but we pined for the dark, cool clarity of the Rideau. Anyone who has pulled onto I-89 in Vermont after a drive up bucolic, tree-lined Route 100 will understand the transition from the Rideau to the Ottawa rivers; after 125 miles of being within fifty feet of shore, we were now in a channel that could span two miles across, buzzing with boats and jet skis and offering no shade trees.

After transiting the several large lakes and two large locks at the southern end of the Ottawa River, another Urban Row awaited us: the roughly nine miles of the Lachine Canal cuts through a largely industrial landscape, but it was all in French, the coffee and pastries were excellent, and we were struck at how even the “back yard” of industrial Montreal was clean and well-tended. Bravo to you, Canada, for caring about your environment…even the parts that are out of sight and could easily be rationalized as an industrialized lost cause.

Brian rowing on the Lachine Canal in Montreal

More and dramatic variety awaited us as we glided out of the last lock of the Lachine and faced the main body of the St Lawrence River. If I must construct another automotive metaphor – and honestly, Gentle Reader, I don’t know why I should have to – it would probably involve your (or my) Aunt Edith pulling out of the Joyce Kilmer rest area on the northbound side of the Jersey Turnpike; she’s at 45, slowly headed to 50 with a coffee in her hand and fiddling with the radio, edging tentatively to the left, peering at mirrors that are not adjusted to her diminutive stature, and you, you’re steaming up the turnpike at 80 plus, “just staying with traffic,” talking on the phone and wondering hey, woah, what the hell is that Dodge doing? Something’s gotta give.

While Aunt Edith and you had a few hundred yards for the old Dodge to build up some steam while you made hard choices, Brian and I saw no such transition. We rowed in circles for a few minutes in the calm of the protected water of Montreal’s harbor, sizing up the roiling, boiling juncture – a watery seam - where the harbor’s slack water met the crush of eight-knot water, a cauldron of undertow and rip currents that would clearly overpower any rowing (or swimming) power we had in our tanks. So, shifting out of the sliding seats and into the lower center-of gravity wicker seats, donning life jackets for the first time, keeping our balance and trying to keep our cool, we entered the down escalator of the St. Lawrence that would propel us to Sorel, sixty miles away, in less than two days. The St Lawrence is remarkable not only for its strong current but also for the oceangoing vessels that ply its often narrow waters; those tankers and freighters can be on you in no time, and “see and avoid” is the simple survival strategy.

Brian rowing on the St. Lawrence

Two days of The St. Lawrence Sleighride came to an abrupt and crushing halt when we turned the corner at Sorel to head south (and upstream) on the Richelieu River. Brian’s earlier descriptions of the Richelieu tell the tale, but I’ll simply echo his comments (and Sammy deChamplain’s) by saying that record high waters (and commensurate contrarian currents), five-abreast go-fast boats driven too fast on a narrow river by those very same Canadians you see flying by you on the turnpike, somewhat unsympathetic landowners, blistering heat, and an average of 2.5 mph over the bottom for days on end made this stretch a real grind…and our recollection of the gentle Rideau even more poignant. We have no desire to return to the Richelieu except to return the kindness of the Lock Nine Angel masquerading as a lock-keeper who permitted us to camp out when we truly needed a break (see “Heroes”).

The crushing brown tentacle of the Richelieu eventually gave way to the broad reaches of Lake Champlain. The current abated, the water darkened and clarified, and as the Adirondack and Green Mountains slowly emerged on the southern horizon, we began sniffing for home. We saw much of what this magnificent lake has to offer during our three day transit, from glassy calm water, sheltered island communities, and stunning sunsets to strong winds, very large waves, a violent ‘hailing’ thunderstorm, and broad expanses of water with no land on the horizon. Frankly, I could spend an entire summer on Champlain in a guide boat; the lake combines the intimacy and cleanliness of the Rideau with the breadth and power of the St Lawrence. Its central and southern stretches in particular rival Lake George in beauty and grandeur. But…we were itching to get home (remember the pledge of Lobster Night?), and we used our third day on Champlain- and a blessed steady, strong north wind and southbound rollers- to position ourselves for an “on-time arrival” on July 8th.

Gentle Reader, we all find our way home, don’t we? Dorothy clicked her heels, Lassie followed her nose, and on July 8th, Brian and I wheeled our boats from Lake Champlain, through Ticonderoga, to the edge of Lake George. Our exuberance to be back on our home waters of Lake George expressed itself most spontaneously when we jumped out of our boats for a long, refreshing swim at the first little island we reached. Yes, Lake Champlain was nice; we had had a few excellent and refreshing swims on the Vermont side and, if you must know, Brian was unencumbered by any stitch of clothing. But, Gentle Reader, Lake George…ah, Lake George. Ringed by majestic mountains, protected by its springs and high ground, there is a magic in the lake’s waters unrivaled by anything we had seen for 480 miles. I can’t say that we had “saved the best for last” because I will not so easily dismiss the variety and abundant natural beauty or uniquely elegant works of man we had encountered over sixteen days of rowing. “Variety”, the title of this unworthy travelogue, is spice, as we all know, but Lake George is home…and we all know what Dorothy had to say about home. In the case of Lake George, it’s especially true.

First sighting of the guys arriving at final destination at Lake George

Heroism (Mr. Frei)

Basin Harbor

The calluses are softening, the lobster is digested, and the boat is cleaned, oiled, and safely tucked away. But my gratitude to the acts of kindness – even heroism- that Brian and I received along the way is still fresh. Arriving at a dock or shoreline exhausted, short of supplies, and uncertain of where you’ll flake out that night can be daunting, and when a stranger steps up with no motive other than to help another in need…well, if you’re bushed, toasted, or if you’re Brian or Al, that’s kindness. And kindness ascends to the status of heroism when the help is offered in the face of skeptical “Others” or in opposition to a higher authority.

“Mo” of Rockland, on the Ottawa River, was our first true hero. After our first full day on the Ottawa, having been spoiled by the hospitality of the Rideau Canal system to journeymen like ourselves, we were now in the real world of for-profit marinas and private property; no more kindly civil-servant lock-keepers offering manicured lawns and spotless public restrooms. On 6/26 we pulled into a modest marina-condo setup at dusk and after explaining our plight to a gaggle of tenants gathered on the dock, I asked whether we might pitch a tent on their grounds that evening. A long pause ensued with some nervous glancing about (not a good initial response) and a self-appointed spokesman offered that perhaps we might find a place to camp “just around the corner” at a public park. (Parenthetically, Gentle Reader, let me explain that at dusk, after a full day of rowing, a “just around the corner” response is a killer. A real killer.) I demurely thanked them for their help and must have presented an “Oscar Clip” mien of abject vulnerability because then, from out of nowhere – Ta- Taaa!!- Mo stepped up. “You can tent at the jetty in front of the docks,” he said, “and here is the key to the rest room and shower.” Blessedly, Mo’s pronouncement held sway over The Others and after a suitable contribution to the marina coffee can (a few Canadian dollars to cement the deal; Mo has expenses, too), we were in.

Mo could have stood back. He knew us from nuttin’, and what upside could there be to saying “yes”? None. But he stepped up, added a key, and met us in the morning for encouragement and pictures.

Mo, if you’re reading this, thanks. You are a hero.

Brian has already well described our encounter with the Canadian Coast Guard three days later. Caught in a very nasty squall, they could have pulled us off the water with a warning. Instead, with the sage advice that “most people wear life jackets in weather like this,” they simply wished us well. When Authority allows consenting adults to take and accept risk, well, that’s heroic. Sad, but true. What have we come to?

A day after the Coast Guard courtesy, a Ma and Pa marina at Contracoeur on the St Lawrence was the site of the next kindness. Yes, money changed hands….but Ma and Pa did not have to say “yes” to the grizzled mariners looking to pitch tents right in their front yard. We were out of options after forty miles, and they said the most important words of our trip: “Yes” (or “Oui”, if I understood correctly). Kindness appears heroic when you are out of options… and when you need showers as badly as we did.

Three days later, on 7/3 at Lock 9 of the Chambly Canal, our next true hero emerged; she (Lockmistress Bonnie?) creatively navigated around the rule prohibiting camping at that particular lock by allowing us to camp on the adjacent floating dock…and, with a winsome wink, she threw in the Men’s Room key as well. On a late afternoon at closing time when “no” would have been easy, risk-free, and compliant with the rules, she said ‘yes’ and made a difference. (Hey, Kid Watchman on North Beach in Burlington….are you reading this? How easy would it have been for you to say “yes” and be feted in the blog?)

Emily at Ladd’s Landing Marina on Lake Champlain’s Grand Isle earned our heartfelt gratitude late in the afternoon of 7/5 when, desperate for supplies, we stumbled onto her dock after a tough crosswind row to the Vermont side. Emily had little in the store but, after a moment of seasoned assessment and creative reflection, she offered us unsupervised access to the leftovers from last weekend’s Marina Cookout. Chicken-Apple Sausage, Freihofer rolls, a robust potato salad, a gas grill, wonderfully clean facilities…Emily, thank you. You could have sold us Gatorade and Slim Jims with no extra effort or fuss, but you went above and beyond in offering the expanded menu and Charm City hospitality.

Two days later, David and Steve of Adirondack Guide Boat arranged to meet us at the Basin Harbor Club as we sprinted down the south end of Champlain under a glorious north wind and gentle rollers. These guys are the patriarchs of our particular boats- in fact, there was a pilgrimage-like quality about cruising so close to our crafts’ birthplace- and Dave arrived with a gallon of the most extraordinary Fruit Smoothie ever concocted. At the risk of creating an incestuous metaphor, it was the Adirondack Guide Boat of Smoothies. These guys not only know how to build great boats, they know how to fuel the motors that make them go. Kindness? I should say so.

Dave pours his magic smoothie

Heroes emerged on our final day as well. In Ticonderoga on 7/8, eight hours from our lobster and glory, Mike and his family (wife Linda, brother John, and sister-in-law Kitty, I think I recall) acted as tour-guides, logisticians, and home ports as we carted out boats through Ti to get to the north end of Lake George. They gave us a ride to survey the route of our portage in advance, offered their back yard to launch our boats on Lake George one hundred feet from the dam, and the intrepid Kitty even cleaned out and refilled a particularly skanky thermos…all starting from a casual introduction in the Park. I ask you, Gentle Reader: how many of us would interrupt a perfectly pleasant walk to go to all that trouble for heavily bearded strangers? How many of us would volunteer to sanitize and refill a stranger’s particularly skanky thermos? I’d like to think that we all would…but all I can tell you is that Mike and his family did.

Portage through Ticonderoga

Behind the scenes but squarely and vitally in the middle of this adventure, of course, were Kathy, Peg, Matt, my mom, Doug, Susie, and the delightful but unnamed lady who twice ventured out onto Lake George to act as our “entourage” as we made the final pull towards home. You guys made this trip possible, as did Cecile, Brian’s lovely bride, who heroically consented to share her hubby with me for seventeen days. Seventeen days. Seventeen days.

And finally, “Oscar-Felix” jousting aside, I saw more than a dollop of heroism in my partner as well. Brian rowed through pain, storms, darkness, cramps, and hands gnarled by cherry oars, and he rowed upstream for six hours after literally falling asleep at a counter over a lunch of bread and water. There’s no heroism in rowing 500 miles, but there’s an awful lot to admire about someone who perseveres with pluck, spirit, and good humor, getting it done while way outside of his comfort zone.

Brian, you’re my hero. Really.

Just out of the boata at the Lake George Club

Day 17 - Burlington, VT to Beadle's Cove, VT

Burlington to Beadles Cove

Today was an amazing row for Brian and Mr. Frei, after such a difficult day and an injured back!  They set out at 7 AM this morning, and arrived at Beadle's Cove at 9:30 PM!  Mr. Frei switched to his sliding seat, which seemed to help and he was medicated on a combination (don't do this at home!) of Motrin and Aleve (he was calling it Moleve).

Peg and I met up with them at 1:10 PM at the Basin Harbor Resort near Vergennes, VT. It is a beautiful spot and they let you bring your dog!     We arrived at the Resort at 11 AM and found Steve and Dave from Adirondack Guide-Boat waiting there with delicious watermelon-strawberry smoothies, so we had lots of time to hear their stories before the guys arrived. Steve and Dave made a guide-boat for Martha Stewart, so she did a segment on them a while ago, which I happened to see. Here is a photo of them with Martha. Great guys!



Steve - Martha - Dave

A short but sweet reunion ensued when Mr. Frei and Brian came gliding in, having had one of the best rows of their trip.  Al glided into the beach standing and doing a little dance move in his boat, which Dave made him repeat for a photo.  The guys had their smoothies, and were extremely appreciative (amazing how appreciative this two are when you bring them little treats at meetups!).

Bob Beach, the owner of the Resort came down to meet the intrepid rowers, so it was a nice little break.  After a few sandwiches, Mr. Frei and Brian took off again with the plan to get to the Larrabee's Point, where the ferry is that travels between VT and NY.

Meanwhile, Peg and I toured Middlebury, checked in at the Shoreham B&B, had some dinner and ordered burgers for the guys, who thought that they would be at point around 8:30. 

Peg and I arrived at the ferry station, and some guy leaned out of the second floor window of the stone house there, and yelled that we were trespassing, and no explanation seemed to soften him, so we drove a little further to a nice cove.  Then the wait began, the darkness crept in and the mosquitos started attaching.   The guys finally came into sight around 10PM (we saw Mr. Frei's headlamp), and we were flashing the iPhone and camera at them so that they could see where to land.  They were extremely tired, but very happy with their burgers and Blanche de Chambly beers.  We left them as they were settling in for a good sleep.

Tomorrow morning Mr. Frei's mother will meet them on the NY side of Lake Champlain and take their luggage while they portage the two or so miles over to Lake George.  It seems that lobster night will be on for tomorrow night at Lake George!


Mr. Frei arrives at Basin Harbor Resort




Brian arrives at Basin Harbor, VT



Day 16 - Hero, VT to Colchester Pt., VT to ??

The weather is quite bad today!  By 9:30 they had gone from Hero to Colchester Pt, VT, which took 2 hours and is 3 miles. (Normal pace in calm weather could average 4 MPH)

The winds are at 40 MPH and good chance of thunderstorms, so they are staying ashore.  There is a good chance they will be unable to go further today.  A good day to take a break.

Will let you know later!

Kathy

Day 15 - Chazy Landing, NY to Hero, VT

9 AM - Mr. Frei called in to say that they had been rowing for an hour, and expected to get to Plattsburgh, NY today. The wind is coming out of the Southeast, which is slowing them down a bit.

8 PM - Mr. Frei and Brian had to cross 27 miles from the NY side of Lake Champlain to the VT side due to the strong winds, and are now in Hero, VT.  They called around 8 PM to say that they were in a marina and in the process of buying sandwiches for dinner.



Kathy

Brian's boat on the Chambly Canal