Utica to Little Falls – 4 locks and 23 nautical miles
The morning began eerie and beautiful. A thick fog had descended, blanketing the lock and the three other sailboats tied up near us in a haze of grey marshmallow. I went for a walk to see if I could find a place to dispose of the garbage we had accumulated on the boat. The lock was not secured so I was able walk over the gates to the other side, as and I did I admired the prehistoric metal workings of the doors with its massive chains and gears, all freshly painted, clean, and meticulously maintained. Alongside the canal was a large grassy area then a paved path, and on the grassy area was a lady packing up her tent and loading gear onto her bicycle – a long distance rider, no doubt. I am guessing the path runs alongside the entire Erie Canal, and what a fine bike ride that would be.
We met the other sailboaters as we preparing for the lock opening at 8am. Two were from Illinois (not far from where Mike lives) and the other was from Sault Ste. Marie. They added us to their texting group as they were traveling as a pack and helping each other along the way. We let them go ahead as we weren’t comfortable with jamming three boats into the lock. But what we were comfortable with, somehow, was moving the fenders from the starboard side of the boat protecting us from the jagged concrete wall we were tied to, to the port side preparing for the lock, loosening the mooring lines, then taking a walk over to see the lock filling up. As we looked back the current from the water had pushed the stern of the boat out into the water and the front was rubbing against the concrete wall. We ran back, pushed off the boat, and found a series of new scratches on the recently restored and beautiful hull. Goddamn amateur hour. That’s the thing with boating – it only takes one careless move to cause damage.
The first lock of the day was a joy, as we had now reached the apex of the Erie Canal and all remaining locks were downhill, which is much easier as the motion inside the lock is like an elevator dropping down and the boat remains motionless, as opposed to going up where the incoming water creates wild currents that push the boat around.
Our morning ride was calm, peaceful, sunny, and far more enjoyable than yesterday’s trip through the rain. At one point in the canal we approached a dredging unit that was taking up the whole canal. I called him on VHF channel 13.
“Dredger on Erie Canal with sailboat approaching eastbound.”
“Morning captain, we’ll move the dredger so you can pass on the north side. You should be good for depth, but just stay close to the hopperscow.”
“Right, we will pass you on the north side and keep the hopperscow close to our starboard side, is that correct?”
“Yes captain.”
“I don’t actually know what a hopperscow is, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Sealight out.”
I pulled back on the throttle as we coasted into the small gap. I eyed the depth sounder watching for depth below our keel – 5…3…2…1…0.5. I stayed as close to the dredger as I could get and did indeed learn what a hopperscow is – this is the giant steel barge that the dredging arm drops the mud into. Class, today’s word of the day is Hopperscow. There will be a quiz later.
We passed through another couple of locks then caught up to two of the boats we had docked with, who were moving at an agonizing slow speed of 5.5 knots, opposed to our 7. Yes, it doesn’t seem like much, but it felt like we were crawling and there was not sufficient room to get around them so we simply knocked back our speed, dodged trees and logs in the channel, and enjoyed the beautiful scenery.
We reached our final lock for the day around 2pm – Lock 17 in Little Falls, New York. A sign announced this is the deepest lock in the canal and one of the largest in the world at a 45 foot elevation drop. Once we were in place the water began to drop, and kept dropping for what seemed like forever until we were at the bottom of what felt like a giant trash compactor. I thought back to Star Wars and could see the walls beginning to move, slowly coming together as the crew panicked, looking for a way out, trying in vain to scramble up the slimy ropes to no avail. The walls seized the sides of the boat and the fibreglass started to buckle and snap as we gathered at the centre, looking up, screaming for help, watching the sunlight disappear and the concrete walls closing in on us, pulverizing SeaLight and soon, us.
I shook that scene out of my head and waited patiently as the massive steel door ahead of us began to slowly rise as the enormous concrete counterweight dropped from above and after a few minutes a distant voice from above told us to proceed. We tied up at a wall just outside of the lock, sealed up the boat, then walked into town on a lovely forested path with soaring granite walls and views over the lock and canal.
Little Falls is a beautiful town. We walked the length of it, stopping to pick up a few things at the Dollar General, then the Price Chopper, then CVS, amassing a fine collection of bags to carry. Of course, we forgot to bring along the little foldable cart that Ana has procured for grocery duties on the trip. We walked down into Canal Place and found a craft beer joint called Rock Valley Brewery exactly where you expect it to be – in a converted warehouse, in an industrial area, beneath a bridge. The IPAs were amazing, staff were cool, customers were local, ceilings were ancient and high, and the view looking out over the valley and canal was stunning. The pizza we ordered in was damn good too.
After a couple of high powered craft beers and food none of us were looking forward to carry bags the mile and a half back to the boat, so Ana ordered up an Uber for ten bucks. But then she noticed the Uber driver was 65 kilometres away! This just seemed dumb, so she cancelled it and we walked back, again enjoying the views, but with numbing arms this time.
Hi Kris. Mark here. Loving the narrative- keep the coming. Just a comment regarding the 45 foot drop in the lock and the statement that it is among the largest in the world. Perhaps he meant the us. While we were on the upper Mekong river in Laos we dropped 38 meters at the Pak Beng hydro dam. Like your comment, we were creeped out by the shear walls beside us.
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