Anchored in the Lee of Liberty

On the first full day of fall Whisper is steaming into New England waters for the first time in 3 years. I am sitting in the cockpit letting the autopilot steer its erratic course down Long Island Sound as the Manhattan skyline receds astern. There is not a breath of wind to disturb the Sound’s glassy surface, only Whisper’s wake.

We are closing with the Connecticut shoreline seeking a more favorable current while wending our way through a fleet of fishing boats. I must keep a lookout both ahead and astern as a tug with barges is closing with Whisper.

Yesterday I enjoyed the hospitality of the Orienta Yacht Club’s rear commodore. Two nights in the quietest of anchorages, hot showers, a friendly launch service and a wealth of NY delis in town. Whisper’s larder is stocked with some real treats.

So.......what has happened in the past week.

Along the Erie Canal I made the friendly acquaintance of Dave and Ellen aboard the vintage sloop Cordelia. She and Whisper are both products of the dawn of fiberglass boat building, massively constructed, heavy and seaworthy. Dave and Ellen darn near convinced me to join them in the Bahamas for the winter.

We arrived in Castleton on Hudson together and spent a day helping each other rig our boats, bend on sails and clean off layers of Erie Canal lock slime. Then we played hopscotch down the Hudson River passing each other several times along the way.

I had anticipated a fairly dull motorboat ride down the Hudson. I was in no way prepared for the beauty, both spectacular and sublime the awaited me. From the quaint, historic town of Athens to being docked across from West Point, from mountains to a slalom through the canyons of the middle Hudson, every turn of the river. Working with currents as strong as 5 kts, Whisper fairly flew the 150 miles from Troy to Manhattan.

My second night on the River was spent in Poughkeepsie where my daughter works. She and her partner took me to ‘the best diner in all New York’. I will vouch that their meatloaf with mashed potatoes and fresh cut veggies was not only a massive portion, but utterly wonderful. The crew of Whsiper (that would be me) finished the entire meal and licked the plate.

The third night on the River Whisper docked in the picturesque town of Garrison, directly opposite West Point Military Academy. WP is an imposing fortress where the best and brightest of America’s future military leaders are being trained. It is awe inspiring to say the least.

Kit and Erika brought me a bounty of fresh produce from their farm share. We fired up Whisper’s grill and ate like royalty while Annabelle, the hairy beast, begged piteously. Kit is nothing if not a stern mother.

During dinner I commented on the number of classic Dutch craft making their way upriver. There were botterjachts, the famed canal barges of Holland. There were reproductions of small ships from the 15th century. There were schooners and rowing craft. Kit informed me that the whole summer has been a celebration of the quadricentennial of Henry Hudson’s voyage of discovery in 1609.

Day 3 had Whisper sluicing further downriver with wild mountain scenery rising on both sides. Kit had asked me to keep a lookout below the Bear Mountain Bridge, perhaps the most scenic bridge in eastern America, for a group of kayakers. Among them was her boss showing potential donors a parcel of wilderness mountainside they ope to preserve.

I sent a text message to Kit that Whisper had narrowly avoided the kayaks. Her reply ‘look behind you Dad, and up. That’s what I do.’ I urge you to visit the website http://www.scenichudson.org/. They are dedicated to preserving the natural beauty and accessibility of the Hudson River Valley. It is incredibly gratifying for a parent to know that your child is doing well by doing good.

As we worked our way downriver, Whisper’s keel tasted salt water for the first time in over 3 years, the salinity gradually increasing as we rode the torrent into New York Harbor.

I was prepared for boat and ship traffic to rival that of the streets of Manhattan, and NY Harbor did not disappoint. We had to do donuts while a Carnival Cruise Line ship embarked from its pier with a load of happy passengers. A speeding tugboats wake sent a wall of vvater over Whsiper’s decks, giving them a much needed cleaning. Ferry boats and water taxis scurried past. And megayachts from around world passed stately by.

Humble little Whisper had joined the fray.
The transition from the wild, scenic river to ultra urbanity took her skipper somewhat aback as did the $4 per foot price for dockage. The fuel dock attendant, perhaps thinking that Whisper looked out of place amongst the multi-million dollar yachts in her dock suggested I sneak around the Statue of Liberty into a hidden, almost secret anchorage. Directly off the harbor, this anchorage was a gem. Whisper found safe refuge in the Lee of Liberty, as did her poor and addled skipper.

On Sunday we were to transit the East River through the infamous Hell’s Gate, known for its giant eddies and whirlpools, standing wave and overfalls. Being armed only with current tables, I put a call out to my nephew, Andy, chief mate aboard a New York based tugboat and veteran of many trips ferrying petroleum laden barges through this awe inspring spot. He advised me to have Whisper at the Battery, the southern tip of Manhattan by 0630. According to Andy, there is no such thing as slack water at Hell’s Gate. The current is either flowing one way or the other and you had best be flowing with it.

Andy’s advice caused me to have the anchor up and Whisper under weigh before the sun had made itself known. My reward was to see the Statue of Liberty in the first pink light of pre-dawn. That was an experience few ever have, and it was followed by the spectacle of seeing NYC shaking off the dark of night, emerging into a gleaming new day.

Riding the current up the East River, achieving > 10 kts over the bottom, I was treated to the sights of my old haunts, Rockefeller University, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and Cornell Medical College. I have spent many days plying my trade in these institutions and count them as happy.

Whisper was also treated to a Homeland Security escort past the United Nations. Not only was there heightened security for the UN General Assembly being in session, but President Obama was due to arrive and the previous night 3 terror suspects had been arrested.

The heavily armed gunboat shadowed Whisper while I chatted amiably with their crew. They allowed me to take their picture and wished me a good day when they broke chase. Homeland Security in the form of the US Coast Guard is very much in evidence all over New York Harbor. I find this oddly reassuring.

After all that anxiety, we found ourselves in Hell’s Gate at 0730, a quick trip upriver by any estimate. I supporse there are times when the Gate is much more ferocious, but Whisper made it through with almost no fuss. It might have been a very different story had we shared the narrows with ship traffic. As it was, Whisper had that stretch of early morning river all to herself.

So what did I learn in the past week? I will be years answering that question. Suffice to say that a week I had expected to be somewhat tedious was in fact most advernturesome. Perhaps the greatest adventure of all was having wonderful visits with a daughter who has grown into a happy, productive young woman already making her mark on the world. I am inspired.

Flushed Through New York

With apologies to all......Encapsulating the experiences of the past week will require reflection........LOTS OF IT!!

......... from turning Whisper into a sailboat again after transiting the Erie Canal, to a magic carpet ride down the Hudson River;

......from celebrating the qaudricentennial of Henry Hudson's voyage up the river in 1609 (not much has changed) to a wonderful visit with the daughter who is working to preserve the river's natural beauty;

.......from encountering mighty ships and tugboats with barges and megayachts and ferry boats and water taxis and all the hustle and bustle that is Manhattan to having a spinchter tightening moment when a group of kayakers decides they have right of way over everyone......YIKES!;

.......from anchoring behind (right behind) the Statue of Liberty, seeing Lady Liberty in the last rays of sunset and the first pink light of dawn, watching Manhattan shake off the dark of night of night;

........From being swept up the East River through Hell's Gate at >10 kts on the mighty flood current to entering the broad waters of Long Island Sound, waters I have not sailed in almost 15 years,

..........IT HAS BEEN A WEEK!

I promise to give narrative and photographs to all of this. Right now, words fail me.

..........AND WHAT A WEEK IT HAS BEEN!

River Travel as a Metaphor

I am coming to see river travel by small, slow sailboat as a metaphor.

There is limitless beauty, grand and subtle, for eyes open to see. There are hazards to be negotiated, some for which you can prepare, others you cannot.

You learn to work with the currents and to find safe haven when currents are adverse.

Conscious thought must be given to the impact of your boat's wake on denizens of the river, and what your boat leaves in its wake, both the products and byproducts of life.

Discovery awaits at every turn. Small towns time has passed by and residents happily protecting a way of life. Friends yet to be who welcome with open smiles and helping hands.

And ultimately you will be delivered to the great, salty sea, infinitessimal in its vastness , with boundless possibility, overwhelming vulnerability.

Yet I am reminded of the world's great and pressing commerce racing by on all sides by truck and train and automobile, and I give thanks for these moments on the river and for the eyes given me to see to sea.

Searching for Bargains

Many, perhaps most, sailors are workaday folks always looking for new, better, less expensive ways to pursue their passion. This is especially true in the cruising community.

The boating industry operates on the assumption that we are all bottomless pits of cash. So, whenever cruisers collect on the docks to compare notes the subject of ways to economize is a conversation topic.

Among the great bargains in the boating world is the New York State Canal System which charges a mere $37.50 for a 1o day pass through the locks and $75 for the whole season. For sailboat owners, getting the mast down and back up again is a major source of anxiety.

Oswego Marine, adjacent to the Lake Ontario entre to the Canal System charges a mere $2 per mast foot to step and unstep masts. You do most of the work yourself, but an experienced crane operator makes it possible for one person to do the job.

The really great bargain, however, is the Castleton Boat Club in Castleton On Hudson, NY. A mooring costs $5/night and $50 gives you use of the crane, albeit a slow, creaky affair but it works, and the docks for rigging work. This is a cheerful place with friendly, helpful people and hot, clean showers. By coordinating with fellow cruisers, we arrived as a group and helped each other set up their rigs.

Castleton on Hudson is one of those towns time has passed by. The main street is a collection of crumbling architectural gems on the riverfront. Several times each hour, Amtrak trains come roaring through at frightening speed. But a little vision and input of capital could pull this town back from the brink. Do we need another tourist destination? Maybe an artists colony?

Today we motley group of sailors resumes our downriver journey, able to sail when wind and water favor it, all glad to have reclaimed our status as sailboats.

Whisper Touches Tidewater

After the dash through the Erie Canal an entire group of cruisers tied above Lock 3 in Waterford, NY for a day of rest, repair and taking advantage of the Tugboat Rally.......Who doesn't love a tugboat?

This morning, almost en masse, this same group of cruisers locked the rest of the way down the mountain to the Hudson River. After having most of the Erie locks all to myself, I was faced with having to keep her from ramming multi-million dollar power yachts handled badly.

Powerboats are proof positive that there's no correlation between money and brains. All you need is a well padded checkbook, full fuel tanks and an ignition key. Not to proselytize, but when a powerboat stops in the lock exit to take in his fenders when poor little Whisper, sans brakes, is struggling to maintain steerage. Bitch bitch bitch.........



But Whisper made it through safely, more a testament to luck than any boat handling skill on my part. And with a huge sigh of relief we exited the last lock into the broad, deep waters of the Hudson River. Hence there aren't many pictures. I was too damned busy.

We are now holed up downriver from Albany waiting our turn in line to get Whisper's mast up making her a sailboat again.

So Near Yet.......

Whisper was underway at first light this morning, her skipper filled with anticipation of a hot shower and ice cubes for his libations from the Waterford, NY Maritime Visitors Center. Alas, it was not to be. A tugboat rally in Waterford, at the intersection of the Hudson River has closed the Visitor's Center docks to pleasure boats. So here we sit at Lock 3, the skipper feeling pretty gamey.

Lock 3 is 2/3 of the way 'down the mountain' in a series of 34' "flight locks". They are called flight locks because it is like going down a staircase, one lock right after the other. The locks must be synchronized in such a way that walls of water from the upper locks don't overwhelm the lower locks.

At least the rain is washing some of the accumulated lock wall slime from Whisper's decks. I may go stand out in the rain, nude with a bar of soap. Maybe I'll wait till after dark to do that.
Below are some pictures from the last few days of canal travel. Enjoy.

The view in Lock 7 looking up from the bottom

And the view looking "down the mountain" exiting the lock

As the river walls become high rocky cliffs, small waterfalls like this become common.

Eastern Erie Canal

September 9

Eastbound on the ‘downslope’ from the Oneida region the character of the Erie Canal begins to change. In this area the canal becomes confluent with the Mohawk River. The natural river meanders on and through the canal.

Among the hazards to navigation are trees, some quite large, in various stages of submersion which one must be alert for. Hitting a submerged log, known as a deadhead, end on could do significant damage to a boat.

Other hazards include shoaling causing dredging crews to be at work constantly. The dredges themselves can pose challenges as was the case today when a small cruise ship was maneuvering upbound as Whisper was threading the needle downbound. Guess who won!

As the canal descends into the Mohawk Valley there are a number of places where the canal is above the surrounding landscape, requiring locks to raise and lower boats in steps. The biggest step is Lock 17 which, at 40’ elevation change, rivals the locks of the Welland Canal.

Approaching Lock 17 the canal becomes a channel through solid granite, traversing a mountainside above the city of Little Falls. One begins to appreciate the elevation change when you go from 4 – 5 story buildings whose ground floors are at canal level to seeing over the rooftops of similar sized buildings downstream.

Another feature of Lock 17 is that its east door raises up, allowing you to pass under, instead of opening and closing like a set French doors as at other locks.

Speaking of French, my traveling companions today are from Toulouse, traveling towards the Caribbean on a multi-million dollar Beneteau motor yacht. They speak very little English, creating problems for the lock masters and for me as I maneuver around them. Whisper is not the most maneuverable of boats which they did not seem to appreciate. But they redeemed themselves in the form of a pleasant glass of wine and limited conversation, my French being worse than their English.

Deeper into the Mohawk Valley the canal and the river become a single broad highway, the hills rising higher on each side. This would be truly lovely except that one side of the narrow valley is dominated by the NY State Thruway while the other side is a major east-west rail freight corridor. The sounds of traffic and trains echo from the hillsides destroying the illusion of peace and serenity.

To put things in some perspective: The cars on the NY State Thruway can travel in 5 minutes the distance Whisper travels in an hour. In an hour, those same vehicles will have traveled farther than Whisper can travel in a long, hard day underway. But I am seeing the things they miss. I am being given a lesson in American history and geography the likes of which few ever experience.

The railroad must be a major east west trunk line, as every few minutes heavy freights pass, going in both directions. Some of these trains are several miles long carrying containers stacked 2 high. On the highway opposite is an endless stream of 18 wheelers, a disproportionate number being Wal Mart trucks. Recessionary times do not seem to have slowed the wheels of commerce.

As Whisper approaches the intersection of the Erie Canal and the Hudson River she is faced with the Flight Locks, a series of 5 locks that, in less than 2 miles will drop her 190 feet. This is the highest drop over the shortest distance of any canal in the world. I will admit to being intimidated. But after transiting over 30 locks without mishap, I suspect we will survive these as well.

From there it is on down the Hudson River and a visit with my daughter Kit. That will be a most welcome interlude.

Wildlife

Wildlife – September 9, 2009

One of the joys of traveling by sailboat is intimate contact with wildlife. You travel slowly and quietly, with natural movements allowing both proximity and time to appreciate. The Great Lakes and connecting waterways are a paradise for birders, fishermen and wildlife lovers in general.

Among the perquisites this trip has delivered is learning the language of ducks. In particular, the morning voice of mother ducks trying to round up their ducklings for the day’s training, getting their ducks in a row if you will.

At first light, the mother duck will begin with a quack reminiscent of army drill sergeants. It is a basso profundo quack with a definite grumpy quality, repeated at 5 -7 second intervals until the troops are in formation.

If that doesn’t work, said mother drill sergeant will let fly a flurry of expletive quacks starting a high C and ending with a B flat, emphasis on FLAT. This will be repeated with much flapping of wings and general complaining until the ducklings have moved out as a unit with military precision.

Then there are the geese. Canada geese, like fungi, are ubiquitous in northern waters. It’s difficult to believe they were once on the endangered species list. These noisome creatures are notable for their effluvium, making mockery of boater’s marine sanitation devices. Goose excrement, like geese, is everywhere.
And if, as many paleontologists believe, birds are descended from the dinosaurs, one would deduce that herbivorous dinosaurs were NOT the benign, placid creatures of the Pleistocene. If, like geese, they were aggressively territorial, one can only assume that T-rex had his claws full trying to get a meal.

Maritime visitors included a bumblebee who dropped to Whisper’s deck about 8 miles from land, poor little fella. Exhausted, he curled up in a ball and went to sleep. For several hours he didn’t exhibit any signs of life. In fact I thought he was dead. I had to exercise great care moving about the deck to not disturb him.

After what seemed an eternity he stirred, first one antenna, then a wing, then he shook himself off and stood up. After giving me a good look up and down, he rose into the air, circled once as if to say thanks and took off for God knows where. I worried for his safety. Could he have reached land? Doubtful, but what could I have done for a bee at sea?

The canals have provided ample wildlife encounters as well. As mentioned in other posts, floating wood debris are a hazard in the Erie Canal. One stick, however, seemed to be moving contrary to the current. As Whisper turned, the stick turned too. I went forward for a closer look, my first thought being water snake or perhaps eel. What I saw was a squirrel, eyes bulging in terror, swimming with all his might across the canal. What would motivate a squirrel to cross the canal? Is one side more desirable than the other? Was there something, a Mrs. Squirrel perhaps, that he was trying to escape? Whisper slowed, letting the squirrel pass ahead, no canal kill for dinner.

An overpowering message of this trip is the ability of nature to recover, to overcome the insults of man. The environmental movement has certainly helped to rid the Great Lakes of pesticides like DDT and other forms of pollution. Control of development has allowed reclamation of vast areas of shoreline. Nature herself is a powerful force and, if given a chance, she can heal the earth from wounds we have inflicted. If only we will allow that.

14 Days on the Erie Canal

After transiting the Welland Canal with the help of experienced crew I had nightmares about tackling the Oswego and Erie Canals by myself. But the locks are smaller, the lifts and drops gentler and there aren't any massive ships to squish little boats like Whisper.

That said, I was grateful when a friend from Maine who had always wanted to travel the Erie Canal volunteered for part of the trip. It made getting Whisper stopped on the lock walls ever so much easier.

I have been struck by how rural the Erie Canal is. Passing through large towns like Rome and Utica, there is very little evidence of humanity. The canal's bygone commercial vitality has receded into the forest, replaced only by pleasure craft.

A pleasant feature of canal travel is the geniality of the lockmasters. Each lock is tended by one person. Most of them are cheerful, only too glad to have someone to talk with.

There is free tie-up at most of the locks and in some towns, but services are limited. Tie-up is usually to a concrete wall. Electricity is available at some piers, but drinking water is scarce and showers even harder to come by. Whisper's skipper is about ready to jump in the canal with a bar of soap. I may just spray myself with cologne and adopt a French accent.

Whisper has come up and over the peak of the Erie Canal and we are now locking down towards the Hudson River, some 85 miles to the east. From there, as a sailboat once again, Whisper will transit some 150 miles of the Hudson River with planned arrival in NYC in the 3rd week of September.

Arguing with God

As most of you know by now, this voyage was undertaken to clear my head of accumulated trash, replacing it with higher order thought. To that end, God and I have been arguing quite a bit. Rather I've been arguing, God hasn't been saying much. Or maybe I'm just not hearing.

Now I come from a family of arguers. If arguing were an Olympic sport there would be multiple medallists in my lineage. And, in case the IOC ever recognizes argumentation as an athletic discipline, we have steadfastly maintained our amateur status. There's not a lawyer in the whole damned bunch!!

Heaven forbid that any of us become professionally trained in argument, e.g. litigation! No, we wouldn't want to sully ourselves with filthy lucre in that way.

In fact, filthy lucre, or wealth of any kind seems to have pretty much escaped the grasp of me and my siblings. That was fine for my parents' generation. Most of our forebears were teachers or preachers, professions where poverty carries a certain dignity, almost a cache'.

But I digress.

Thoreau was likely correct when he said "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." I, on the other hand, have chosen a more active form of desperation. When everything is going just fine, I'll find a way to upset the apple cart. At least it keeps life interesting.

But then, Hank (Henry David Thoreau) didn't take the advice of his buddy Wally (Ralph Waldo Emerson) who kept saying 'Hank, too much solitude ain't good for a guy' or words to that effect. They talked funny back then.

But solitude, lack of internet access and not one shred of NPR news for a month or so really does clear the mind. Mine is now a blank slate, fertile ground for inspiration. Let's hope it's inspiration that strikes. Remember what Ben (Franklin) said: "An idle mind is the devil's playground."

The Skipper Spills His Coffee

Yesterday, September 4, Whisper became a motorboat. Actually we had had to motor from Sacket's Harbor, that bastion of 1812 glory, to Oswego as, what little wind there was, was smack on Whisper's nose. That said, the mast was still up and sails were still on. She was still, technically, a sailboat. Now her mast is lashed on deck, her sails stowed and her only means of motivation is diesel fuelled.

Ever eager to make distance east, I was up before dawn making final preparations to enter the Oswego canal en route to the eastern portion of the Erie Canal.

Promptly at 0700h I radioed the Oswego lock master to let me through lock 8. His response: You'll have to wait while I empty the lock. So I put Whisper in a circle, motoring dead slow and we wandered just outside the main channel.

Suddenly Whisper stopped dead in the water with a thud, spilling my coffee and shattering my morning calm. The depth sounder read 13 feet under the keel. So my first words of the new day, spoken rather LOUDLY, were "What the f*#k?" Good morning Oswego!

I had checked the chart the previous evening for depths on the seawalls looking for the best place to tie up. What I didn't see were those tiny little stars, mid-harbor, that signify rocks......a whole string of them. My eyesight just ain't what it used to be!

Fortunately Whisper slid off easily. There were no sounds of crunching fiberglass and no water entering the hull. So I continued through the Oswego Canal. With apologies to Matt Maurer who did such an amazing job fairing Whisper's bottom and keel in 2008, I'll do a proper damage assessment when I find water clear enough to swim in.

As I write this, Whisper is docked in Phoenix, NY adjacent to all the yachtsmen enjoying Labor Day week-end on the river and a genial Canadian couple making their way south for the winter.

Tomorrow Whisper enters the Erie Canal at the junction of the Oneida, Oswego and Seneca Rivers. From there we transit the length of Lake Oneida and 160 miles to Troy, NY.

The leaves are just starting to turn color, but I do not think we'll see fall in its full glory on the Hudson River. It's almost enough to make me stop and wait a couple weeks, but reality is starting to assert herself. The push is on.

Crisis at Sea

Oh my God!!!! The worst has happened!!

It was bad enough when the ice ran out. Then the limes ran out, followed shortly by the tonic. As we drink the cheapest of vodka aboard Whisper we were just NOT enjoying this. But as sailors will, we made do. Think of it as drinking VERY dry martinis.

But then the unthinkable! Whisper's larder ran out of ketchup!!!

Had you grown up on my mother's cooking, a la spaghetti from a can, you would know that food is merely a vehicle for ketchup.

The only truly inspired moment of the Reagan years was when ketchup was deemed, for school lunch programs, a vegetable.

Ketchup is one of the four major food groups, the others being pasta, alcohol and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

On arrival in Oswego, Whisper's skipper immediately set out to remedy the grog and ketchup situations........What did he find instead? A farmer's market with tons of fresh produce!

Go figger! When the skipper wants fresh produce he finds liquor. When he wants liquor he finds fresh produce. So what did he do? He bought corn and tomatoes and peaches and plums and onions and peppers and goat cheese and ..............

If we are to be denied ketchup at least we'll feast!

Life aboard Whisper is good.

A Week Of Milestones

Thank you to those who e-mailed expressing concern for Whisper's safety (and mine) and for the kind words of encouragement.

The north shore of Lake Ontario east of Cobourg is very rural. There was neither cell phone access nor internet connectivity for much of the time Whisper traversed those waters. But what a time it was!

Starting with Cobourg, which bills itself as "Ontario's Feel Good Place": I found a town that has revitalized itself, though on a Sunday morning it was pretty sleepy. The coffee shops didn't even open until 9 a.m. But the marina management stationed a young man with a coffee pot at the dockhead, and he gamely sat there in the rain dispensing the elixir of the gods.

From Cobourg, Whisper made way for the tiny outpost of Presqu'ille at the outlet into Lake Ontario of the Trent Severn Waterway, a system of rivers, lakes and canals connecting Georgian Bay (Lake Huron) to Lake Ontario. I would have loved to take that route, but the limiting draft is 5 feet and Whisper draws 6. It's a paradise for powerboaters.

Presqu'ille is the third such named town on our route. Whisper also anchored off Long Point one night and a different Long Point the next. Two of my favorite place names were the Palen Bank and Penninsula Point. Of the former, I thought it apropos to name a hazard to navigation after Alaska's now deposed governor......I suspect there are some Republicans who would agree. For the latter, enough said. It seems the fur trappers and lakes traders were not too imaginative when it came to place names.

Whisper's tour of the Thousand Islands region culminated in Sacket's Harbor, NY famous for its battle in the War of 1812 and now a small outpost of tourism at the outlet to the St. Lawrence River.

The Thousand Islands (I didn't count them) region is rich with opportunities for exploration and beauty befitting its reputation. This is a sailor's paradise. I could happily have spent weeks exploring.

It was with great regret that I turned Whisper's transom on the St. Lawrence and headed south to Oswego, NY and our entrance to the New York State canal system. Whisper has transited the Panama Canal, the Suez Canal and now the Welland. She will now add the Erie Canal to her list of waterways.

As for milestones this week:

a) We (Whisper and I) celebrated 1 month underway from Racine. A wistful celebration at best.

b) We passed the 1000 mile mark on our eastbound course.

c) We have now exceeded 1400 miles total travel......Sailboats often cannot go from Point A to Point B in a straight line, and sometimes cruising sailboats must go by way of Penninsula Point.

d) We weathered our first major crisis......but that's another post.

There Be Dragons

During my brief stay at the Olcott Yacht Club I was given a guided tour of the St. Lawrence Seaway to the Atlantic Ocean by people who have sailed that region. The distances alone were awesome, but the tales of fall weather in Gulf of the St. Lawrence gave me indigestion.

On the strength of their advice, I chose to take the southern route via the Oswego River to the Erie Canal. This bought some time for cruising the north shore of Lake Ontario into the Thousand Islands region. As we had raced past the North Channel and Georgian Bay portions of Lake Huron, I was eager to partake of Lake Ontario's gems.

As if to make the point for prudence, Lake Ontario delivered a roundhouse punch. The forecast, on leaving Olcott bound for Cobourg, Ontario was for 20 kt winds, gusting to 25 kts with seas of 1 - 2 meters. What we experienced was winds of 25 - 30 kts with seas of 2 - 4 meters, breaking.

Breaking waves are what surfers dream about. They are a nightmare for sailors. Waves break when they become steep, a la nearly vertical.

For 8 hours Whisper fought to make headway into these monsters under double reefed mainsail and a fraction of her genoa. Her skipper came to regret the breakfast of greasy eggs and toast as he tried to find safe harbor on the north shore of Lake Ontario deep enough to accomodate Whisper's 6 foot draft.

We have been working east for this entire trip, and every mile made good has been work. It broke my heart to ease sheets and make off for safe harbor in Oshawa, Ontario, losing at least 20 miles of easting.

The weather gods had spoken. Whisper's skipper had hit a wall. Good seamanship and common sense dictated seeking safe shelter.

Oshawa is a tiny, industrial port. But it has deep water and a sheltered anchorage. We were only too glad to drop the hook and wait for a fair chance along.