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