The Final Leg of the Journey

Holmes Manor, Bateau Chanel to the Middle of Lake Ontario  - 52 nautical miles sailed, 45 kilometres driven, 2 kilometres walked

We are so close now. So close that it's difficult for me to comprehend the enormity of this journey and how it will soon be ending. By tomorrow evening, SeaLight will be gliding into our slip at Newport Yacht Club (inshallah), my beautiful Ana will be there, we will be surrounded by friends, and the trip will become a memory, tossed on the pile of previous adventures, but taking up more space than average. These memories are sure to pop up in the coming months as I go about my regular business. While putting SeaLight away for the winter in September I will be thinking about our brutal first passage across Lake Ontario to Oswego with our buddy Mike then the excitement of our first day on the Erie Canal. As I'm sitting on the couch watching tv in October I'll be remembering that first beautiful ocean passage from New York City to Cape May. As we go out to a restaurant in Paris for Ana's birthday in November, we will talk about her last birthday - an incredible day in Hilton Head. We'll probably be at home for New Year's Eve, and there all four of us will recall welcoming in 2025, wearing party hats and blowing noisemakers at that small Italian restaurant in Fort Lauderdale. On some cold night in January I will remember our first swim in Allan's Cay with a shark and a ray as we experienced that impossibly clear Exuma water for the first time. Some work day in February an image will pop into my head - Ana and I walking the perfect beach in Long Island while Stella sleeps on the beach lounger. We will be sitting down for dinner at home in March when Ana will remember us sharing pizza with Ben, Kate, Kevin and Ana in Hopetown, Abaco. I'll be polishing SeaLight's hull in April cursing the boat whose anchor slipped in Oriental, North Carolina and scraped up her sides. Not sure where I will spend my birthday this year, but I'm sure to remember how I spent last year's birthday alone in Coxsackie waiting for the Erie Canal to open. And we might just be anchoring out with friends in Hamilton in June when I start thinking of that lovely anchorage in Lake Chesapeake and those final days fighting our way through the locks with my brother and with my son.

These memories are so strong and fresh now. I can still smell the fishiness of Potter's Cay in Nassau. I can visualize the face of the Bahamian artist in Farmers Cay who sold us fruit. I can taste the lobster paella we made several times on the boat. I can feel the coarseness of the nurse shark's leathery brown skin in Staniel Cay and the warmth from the glowing pink fire radiating from the conch shell firepit we made on the beach in Egg Island. These memories will last a lifetime. And if those memories begin to fade, I will read these journals and they may feel like stories from somebody else's life, but I will know they are mine.

I am relishing these last few moments of the trip. The sense of freedom. The luxury of time. Relishing the mental space provided by the boredom of a long passage. Being at the mercy of the weather, SeaLight's mechanical systems, the gods. Being in control. Not being in control. Waking up thinking, I wonder what will happen today, knowing it could be anything. The excitement of possiblity. The agony of disappointment. A time where each new day is a blank canvas and is never like the last. Being so tuned into the boat I know her intimate squeaks and leaks, her curvature, how she moves in the water, when she's happy and when she's not. Over the months she has become the third partner in our marriage; it's Ana, Kris, and SeaLight. Always together. Taking care of each other. Relying on each other. Nurturing each other. Having fun.

Oh my. My reflections on the trip have already begun. Am I ready for it to be over? I certainly am anxious to get SeaLight home and moored safely in her slip, slightly bruised and batttered, but very much in one piece. I can't wait to see Ana and Stella. I'm excited for my upcoming trip to Saskatoon to see my family. But I will miss life at sea. I will miss everything about it.

Am I ready for it to be over? Regardless of the answer, it comes to an end tomorrow.

Today, Magnus and I had a morning of chores. We put the sails back on the boat. We sprayed off the thousands of tiny bugs which had collected on SeaLight overnight. We scrubbed the cockpit floor. We borrrowed Andrew's brand new kick ass truck and made a run into Kingston to pick up a few supplies and stopped for coffee downtown (one of the best downtowns in the country in my opinion). I noticed the K-Rock centre had been renamed Slush Puppie Place. I don't even know where to start with that one.

By 2 pm we had said goodbye to Victoria and Emma and were pushing off the dock, taking a full loaf of Victoria's sourdough bread with us and a really nice set of steak knives I found in a drawer. The wind was strong, gusting to over 25 knots, right in our face, so progress was slow. We stopped at Portsmouth marina west of Kingston's downtown to fill up with diesel, and did a fancy 360 in the harbour when I couldn't rember if the gas dock was a left turn or straight and I had maneouver to avoid hitting a dock. I told the gas dock staff I do a 360 every time I get to a new marina, as a sort of celebratory spectacle.

The open lake was choppier, with three foot waves and the odd four footer which sent SeaLight crashing. Magnus went down for a short nap at 4 pm and didn't wake up until 10:30! By that time I was tired and he was completely fresh so after a briefing he took over and I went to bed.

The clock tipped into midnight somewhere in the middle of Lake Ontario.

SeaLight is Home

Middle of Lake Ontario to Newport Yacht Club  - 113 nautical miles sailed

My last sunrise on the boat. At least for a while.

I took over the helm at 4:30 am and relieved Magnus who had done his first solo night run and done it well. To the unititiated, the idea of piloting a bouncing and rolling sailboat across an ocean-sized lake with land a distant 20 miles away on either side of you could seem daunting. But Magnus has done these night passages many times, (although usually sound asleep in his cabin) so this was the first time for him alone at the helm, and he had been looking forward to it.

As the sun peeked over the horizon it brought that early morning chill and stronger winds that strengthened to 20 knots from the north-east, giving us a substantial push and allowed me to put out the head sail and turn off the engine, which pulled us along at a respectable 7 knots.

While Magnus slept, I watched a movie on the tablet. It is called "The Way" and is a story about a father who loses his vagabond son to an accident while in the French Pyrenees on his first day of walking to the Camino de Santiago - an 800 kilometre ancient pilgrimage route that runs across the north of Spain and ends in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in the region of Galicia. This pilgrimage route is also called the "Way of St. James" as the Catholic apostle's remains are said to be interned in the cathedral. This Christian pilgrimage route was established in the 9th century and has been used consistently since then, now drawing hundreds of thousands per year, some walking, others on bicycles or horseback.

Ana and I have seen this movie once before, a long time ago. It is not a fantastic movie - the dialogue sometimes comes up flat and the characters are overdone. But the story penetrates, and today this movie hit me like a freight train and brought on a torrent of emotion I have not felt in a very long time. The movie is a custom made summary and reflection on our own adventure this year. It is about the enduring bond between parent and child. It is about setting out on an impossibly long journey, not knowing what you will find, and not finding what you expected. It is about facing challenges and not always winning. It is about friendship and tolerance and the differences between people. It is about the power of nature and the healing effects of movement. It is about serendipity and fate, love and loss. But for me, the primary message from the film is that it takes a great deal of time to change oneself, or to even know what needs changing, if anything. It doesn't happen in a day. It doesn't happen in a week. You need to suffer through your failings and acknowledge your flaws and intrinsic human weakness. It requires bravery. And it requires help from other people.

Watching this movie was time well spent and made me appreciate this journey of ours even more.

When Magnus awoke we had a hearty breakfast of soft boiled eggs on sourdough bread then I got to work cleaning the inside of the boat while he watched the helm. I needed the boat to be in top shape for the Admiral's return so I cleaned the bathrooms, vaccumed and washed the floors, wiped the walls, and made the beds with tight corners to army cadet level precision.

As we neared the west end of the lake, the waves built higher and higher. The Environment Canada marine forecast predicted wave heights of 0.5 metres building to 1, but we were rolled by many waves that had to be close to 2 metre monsters, providing for a very bouncy and rolly ride. Magnus has historically been prone to motion sickness so today he wore the electrical pulse watch we own and behind-the-ear tabs that our friend Kira left on board. He was pretty solid, and only had to lie down for an hour or so when the ride got exceptionally rolly.

We timed our arrival to Newport Yacht Club with Ana's, as she had to drive down after work through jammed traffic. As we pulled into the marina channel, nearly nine months after beginning our journey, she was standing at our slip, waiting for us, and waving us in.

Magnus and Ana secured the lines, SeaLight breathed a huge sign of relief, and we were officially home.

A Thousand Islands and One RCMP Stop

Brockville to Holmes Manor, Bateau Chanel  - 38 nautical miles sailed, 2 kilometres walked

We left the anchorage at a leisurely 7 am to a glorious, clear morning. The thin layer of bugs all over the boat slowly blew off as we gained speed heading upstream. The current was getting progressively weaker the closer we got to Lake Ontario, but I knew there would be some narrow channels in the Thousand Islands with heavier currents.

As we motored I mapped out the route we'd take through the island chain, sticking to the ultra safe, but slightly longer one. Last time we were here we took the shorter, more scenic route and rammed full speed into an immovable rock, causing damage to our keel bolts and requiring significant and expensive repairs. Since SeaLight had a beautiful bottom and new bolts and fibreglass, I didn't want a repeat performance.

The scenery throughout the Thousand Islands is serene and mezmerizing. Cottages dot the waterfronts of the islands and narrow channels wind through these. The geographical area of the Thousand Islands is small, making it a great place to explore and anchor out...if one had ample time, which we did not, so we kept the motor running and simply enjoyed the scenery.

As Magnus was at the helm and I was sitting in the cockpit, a US Coast Guard boat approached us with their blue lights flashing. I told Magnus to put it in neutral to let them attach to us. I knew for damn sure we hadn't broken any speed limits and we'd dropped off all the guns and drugs and immigrants and high power weed killer back in Montreal, so I wasn't sure why they would be stopping us.

I was surprised to see two RCMP officers appear and tell us they were boarding the boat to do a safety check. They explained that they were trained in US procedures which is why the US and Canadian patrol boats were used interchangeably in this area with a winding border and the ability for boaters to cross back and forth without having to report in. We invited them on board and asked what they wanted to see.

"I need to see your boat registration, boater license cards, and lifejackets," one of the officers said, but in a very kind way.

"No problem," I replied and quickly gathered the requested items. "Anything else? I can also show you the flares, axe, signaling device - we have all the mandatory safety stuff on board."

"No need, I can see you are well set up here. Where are you coming from?"

"Bahamas. Spent the winter there, but had to come back up the Champlain due to the Erie Canal delays."

"Really?" he asked, looking around the boat. "Usually when we stop cruisers returning from winter trips their boat decks are a mess, full of diesel cans and water jugs, and all sorts of junk."

"I don't get it either. You can get diesel anywhere. We just carry 10 gallons of it and 5 gallons of gas and the jugs fit in the anchor hold. I hate having a messy deck. Maybe those boaters do longer offshore runs than we did or dip further into the Caribbean."

"Well, your boat looks great. Welcome back to Canada and have a safe remainder of your journey," he said then both of them stepped back onto their boat and took off.

In all the years we have been boating in Lake Erie, Lake Huron, and Lake Ontario that is the first time we've ever been boarded by officials.

We continued on our way, passing by Gananoque and into the Bateau Channel and were soon in front of the waterfront home and dock of our friends Andrew and Victoria. The wind had really built up and was blowing at over 20 knots, making the docking a little tricky, but on the second attempt we landed it and lashed all the fenders we had (plus a couple we filched from the dock) on the side to prevent her from getting mashed up on the dock.

SeaLight has docked here many times over the years so it felt like home. After securing the boat we walked up to the house to see Victoria and their golden retriever Emma. Andrew, sadly, was away on a work trip in Fort Myers but I'd promised him we would use copious volumes of the dock water and electricity, eat as much food as we could pack in, steal the wifi, do all of our laundry, dump our garbage, destroy his fancy toilet, drink his rum and beer, entertain his beautiful lady, siphon the gas out of his truck, and maybe steal a few tools from the shed. Good friends are hard to find.

After seeing Victoria and having a quick visit (she works from home and seemed to be in the middle of some boring conference call) we returned to the boat and gave her a sorely needed cleaning. Transiting locks completely filthifies a boat. Normally, I'm obsessive about keeping SeaLight clean, but this trip, and the scarcity of fresh water for cleaning, has dulled my compulsions and the dirt and stains and skids haven't bothered me as much. But today, we cleaned. We didn't quite get up her to normal standards, but she was looking pretty good by the time we were done.

Victoria called us up for happy hour at 5 and we had a couple drinks on their gorgeous deck while we chatted and enjoyed the scenery. It had been over a year since we'd seen her so we had plenty to catch up on. Happy hour led to dinner and she had crafted two magnificent loaves of sourdough bread and a lasagna so we ate well and continued our visiting into the darkness. It was a real drag that Andrew couldn't be here, but we made sure to antagonize him with texts to make sure he knew we were having fun and hadn't forgotten about him.

We hauled our finished laundry back to the boat sometime after ten under the glow of a fiery red strawberry moon and discovered the previously clean SeaLight was covered with a blanket of little purposeless lake bugs.

She might need another rinse tomorrow.

The War Hammer and End of the Locks

Ile du Grenadier to Skelton Island, Brockville - 75 nautical miles sailed, 3 locks

Today, we had great ambitions. Like our friends on Hibiscus, our other friends Cathy and Perry on Panacea (who have consistently been a few days ahead of us since Troy) have been feeding me information on the route which has helped immensely, reinforcing the fact that this adventure of ours has truly been a team effort. I call it the Cruising Class of 2025 as it feels as if all the cruisers are working together to help each other, like a family, like a gang, like a community, but a short term one for a specific purpose. There will be a new cruiser class next year, but many of the friendships we have developed will endure.

There were three locks remaining and we hoped to complete all of them and make it to Brockville. But that would require traveling more than 75 miles against a strong current, not hitting delays at any of the locks, and doing it all through forecasted rainstorms and heavy winds. But we are nothing if not ambitious.

When I pulled anchor at 5 am it was pouring rain outside and there was limited visibility. Fortunately there were no other boats on the water so I sailed to the chart and stuck my head out the enclosure once in a while to look for boats. I let Magnus sleep in as there was no need for both of us to be up. One thing I'd been noticing is the increasing populations of bugs. It seems the closer to home we travel, the worse the bugs get, and I do remember them being quite nasty in the Thousand Islands area from previous trips. But, you take the bad with the good.

Magnus and I had breakfast together and talked for hours. One major topic was what to do with the custom war hammer Curtis had brought out with him and given to me for my birthday. In recent years he has become an expert wood craftsman and decided to make mallets for both me and my brother Marty for his recent 50th. It is an incredible piece of work and my inclination was to hang it in our home kitchen as an artwork, maybe next to the magnificent guitar-shaped burger flipper which has never been used. But Curt would have none of it - it was a gift meant to be used. So, the next question was, what to do with it. Magnus and I decided there were two options. First, it could be a carpentry mallet, which would be very useful in our upcoming deck rebuilding project. Second, it could be a meat hammer, also very useful for upcoming pork schnitzel projects. A third option, and one which we fiercely debated, was using it for both. A multi-purpose tool would be good, but the downside could manifest itself in long cedar splinters poking out of the layer of sauerkraut on your pork cutlet (or worse, your guest's) or splatters of pork meat scattered on and between the new deck boards. In the end, we decided to use the war hammer as a carpentry mallet and continue to use the rolling pin to smash meat. We also agreed that the war hammer could be used as an actual war hammer in the case of attack or burglary.

We arrived at the Snell lock at 10:15 and had to wait just over an hour to get in. I had found a website showing the schedule of boats at this lock for today and it was spot on - we got in right where I'd seen the gap in freighter traffic. While waiting at the lock we tied up to the one powerboat there, who was a captain doing a boat delivery for a 50 Sundancer from Marco Island in Florida to Midland in Georgian Bay. While we were chatting he mentioned the boat’s twin 1200 horsepower diesel engines burned 600 gallons of fuel in a full day. This is why it's great to have friends with powerboats.

Both lifts went perfectly and the locks were far better than the Canadian ones as they had designated and numbered positions on the wall where you tied your midship line to a huge cleat inside the wall that rose up and down with the water level, making awkward tossing of ropes unnecessary. They also answered the radio when we called, and accepted cash at the lock (Canadian at par!) or you could pay online. It was a much smoother operation than what we'd seen in the previous Seaway locks.

From there it was a long haul to the final lock, on the Canadian side, called Iroquois, scheduled to close at 6 pm. The instructions for this lock on the Seaway website were again extremely confusing. I radio'd them at 5:15 pm and was shocked when they answered. They told us there would be plenty of time to get us through, and when we arrived I understood. The doors opened. We went in. The exit doors opened at the same time so we just motored through the lock and didn't have to tie up or even see anybody - both sides were at the same water level. I wasn't sure to be thrilled or pissed that we had to pay $25 for the experience.

With that, the locks for the trip were complete and it was a straight run to our anchorage in Brockville. Along the way I assembled a decent pork gumbo for dinner then Magnus and I each assembled our dream super bands, identifying musicians, producers, album themes, and features. My band was called 8 Track - a single album trip metal prog project between Les Claypool from Primus on bass and vocals, Danny Carey from Tool on drums, Joe Duplantier from Gojira on guitar and vocals, and whoever it was in Portishead that played keyboards and made all those deliciously creepy sounds. Magnus went through about ten iterations of what he wanted, excited as hell, but changing people, moving them from instrument to instrument, identifying featured artists, taking them out, putting them back in, then realizing many of the artists he'd chosen don't play much for instruments and are just expert producers, so in the end he couldn't nail down his dream band...but I think he'll keep working on it.

So after 75 miles, 3 locks, and 16 hours on the water, we dropped the anchor at Skelton Island at 9:45 just minutes before the remaining pale light of day was completely extinguished.

Locks, Logs, and Traitorous Powerboaters

Montreal to Ile du Grenadier, 48 nautical miles sailed, 4 locks

Last night's Colt 45's did a number on Magnus and I had a hell of a time waking him up for the first lock, which we reached shortly before it opened to receive the pleasure boaters assembled there - us and five powerboats. The St. Lawrence Seaway is a major shipping route from North America and there is an endless stream of freighter traffic. Pleasure boats are permitted to use the locks, but are considered a nuisance like houseflies, earwigs, or roaches as the scant fees we pay to use the locks ($25 per lift) is bus fare compared to the thousands laid down by the monster tankers. Thus, when using the St Lawrence Seaway it is best to brace oneself for delays.

Today we hoped to get through four locks, all of which are on the Canadian side of the border, which generally cuts through the middle of the river system. Next would be two locks on the American side then one final one on the Canadian side which would then put us at the level of Lake Ontario - 243 feet higher than where we began.

The lock was massive. We were last in and snuggled up to the rafted powerboats ahead of us then caught the two long ropes the staff far overhead hurled down. It was very much the same, if not identical, to the locks in the Welland Canal, which we have transited in the past. The fill went well and we managed to keep SeaLight off the wall and unscuffed. The powerboaters took a long time to get themselves untied then crawled out of the lock at a freshwater snail's pace.

By the time we reached lock 2 it was clear the scheduled 11 am opening for pleasure boats was not going to happen, as a huge freighter was on his way in from upstream. The powerboats had taken up all the space on the courtesy dock so Magnus and I floated around in the bay while we waited. When the ship finally exited it was already looking very tight for us to be able to make it to lock 3 for the 3 pm opening, and it didn't help that the powerboaters were again taking their time and goofing around. They didn't even start untying their lines until the freight had completely cleared the channel so it likely took twenty minutes for them to dawdle into the lock and get secured to the wall. After the lift they waddled their way out and proceeded to hang on the right side of the channel after being told by the lock staff to stick to the left to avoid another incoming ship. Well, the incoming freighter let loose with a volley of angry horn blasts which threw them into disarray; one started doing 360's, one headed straight back towards the last lock, one just floated there stunned, and the other two idled every so slowly out of the way. More wasted time. When they were all finally pointed in the right direction they started moving then really hit the gas leaving us behind in the watery dust going at sailboat speed. Fortunately, when we had reached the top of lock 2 and were handing the ropes back to the lock master, she asked if we were going through the next lock.

"Yes!" I said. "Are we going to miss it? There's not enough time for us to get there for the 3 pm opening."

"No problem," she said. "We've already contacted lock 3 and told them of the delay. They will hold the lock for you."

"Thank god, we were worried we were going to miss it and be stuck there until tomorrow."

"You'll be fine."

We reached lock 3 at 3:15. Our powerboat buddies were nowhere to be seen and the lock doors were shut tight. The bastards left without us! We pulled SeaLight up to the courtesy dock and tried to figure out what to do. I called the lockmaster repeatedly on the radio, several different channels, but no response. We waved our arms at the control booth far in the distance. I tried calling the powerboats on the radio, no response there either, not that they'd do anything about it considering they knew damn well we were behind them and trying to make the lock. I tried calling the St. Lawrence Seaway general number, but each menu option led me to either robotic recordings, voicemail, or more menu options. Finally, in desperation I chose the option for Marine Emergencies.

"Hello, this is lock 3," a human voice answered.

I was flabbergasted. "Lock 3? Really?"

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"We're SeaLight. We arrived at 3:15, we're at your courtesy dock and were scheduled for this opening. The lady at lock 2 said you'd wait for us. What happened? Didn't our powerboat friends mention us?" I blurted out in a panicked string of words.

"Nobody told me. I waited until just after 3 but didn't see anybody. Sorry."

"What are we supposed to do? I don't understand. Lock 3 promised. And a promise is a promise. Right? Right?"

"Hmph," he grunted. I'd played the promise card. I never play the promise card, but it was the only card I had left. "Well, I supposed I could have the summer students open it for you."

"Oh thank you! Thank you blessed lockmaster. Your mamma raised a good boy."

"Stand by on channel 68. I'll let you know when to come in."

And with that, we got a lock opening all to ourselves. And because lock 4 was only half a mile away and staffed by the same team, we got our own fill for that one too. I just love it when tragedy turns to victory.

With that, we were back in the St. Lawrence and had only two more obstacles - lift bridges. The information on the Seaway website on protocol for these two bridges was extremely confusing; it said they opened just twice per day on a schedule, but it also opened on demand, but it also did not open on demand. As we were trying to figure this out I received a cryptic message from our buds Jonathan and Marcel in Hibiscus saying they were at lock 4 and something about bridges and meeting them at the second one. I had no idea what Jonathan was talking about nor how Hibiscus could be here....unless he stole our spot in the lock?

Well, despite a dozen calls on the radio to the first bridge, they would not respond, but they did open it after a while. After a bunch of miles and hitting three submerged trees (if we'd hit a submerged tree back in Lake Ontario we would have lost our minds; now, it's a series of crashes on the underside of the boat, a bored glance to the stern to see what object pops up, then a simple sigh), we came within view of the second bridge and we could see Hibiscus in the distance. Again, I could not figure out how the hell they got here. As we watched Hibiscus we saw the second bridge opening to let a freighter pass. Hibiscus was going for it to catch the opening. As the freighter passed through, Hibiscus came up the inside looking to squeak through. But no, the lift bridge operator must had seen him and wanted to have a laugh so dropped the bridge at double speed and blocked his access. The cruelty of it!

We finally reached the bridge and eased up to Hibiscus for a visit. Well, it turns out they had been with a group of powerboaters yesterday and the exact same thing happened to them, except they arrived at lock 3 at 3:05 just in time to watch the doors closing, then were unable to contact the lockmaster and had to wait an entire day. That's how they slipped into our spot. We felt terrible for them but it did allow us to catch up and have a little visit on the water.

The bridge was receiving calls from both of us, on all channels, as we tried to contact them to ask when we would get an opening, but it sat there closed with very little traffic as we floated around in front of it. At about 6:45 it finally opened and we were able to pass. They sailed onto the nearby town of Valleyfield and we were thinking of joining them for a final round of beers, but realized we'd have to backtrack then make up the miles tomorrow, which was already going to be a very long day. So we pushed on another hour or so and found an anchorage in the still shadow of Grenadier Island

Magnus Takes the Helm and a Visit with Tula in Montreal

Ile aux Fermiers to Club Nautique, Montreal - 10 nautical miles sailed, 5 miles in dinghy, 7 kilometres walked

I woke up to a secluded anchorage that was calm, flat, and strangely peaceful considering we were on the doorstep of the second largest city in Canada. 

We were back on the water by 8:30 am and sailed ten miles to the Club Nautique, which was very close to tomorrow's first lock and a short dinghy ride to Montreal's Old Port area. We'd decided that from here on in, Magnus would be at the helm as he really wanted to learn how to handle SeaLight during this trip and so far I'd done all of the tricky piloting in the locks. It was time to rip off the band-aid.

Magnus was on the phone with the marina owner who guided him into the mooring field and sent us to ball number three. I grabbed a boat hook, readied the lines, and positioned myself at the bow as he skirted by a dangerously shallow area then made a sharp turn just in time to ease up to the mooring ball, which I snagged with the hook then attached our lines. It was an utterly perfect maneouver on Magnus's part.

After checking in with the marina and paying the $60 mooring fee, we dinghy'd upstream two miles to the Old Port tourist epicentre. I tried sweet talking the dockhand for a free tie-up but he would hear nothing of it and confirmed there are no free places for dinghies anywhere. So I coughed up $30 for a three hour stay and we were on our way.

Magnus and I did what one does in Montreal - strolled around gawking at the magnificent architecture as you sniff out food options. It was a picture perfect, sunny day with the temperature headed up to 26 degrees, making for a lovely walk. We stopped at an art gallery then moved onto the Crew Collective & Cafe, a co-working space and premium coffe experience in a stunning, cathedral-like ex-RBC building. This is a place I've been wanting to visit for a while and it did not disappoint. Well, actually, it disappointed a bit as the queue to get coffee was a mile long and there were no available seats, so instead we found a quiet cafe down the street and sat at the streetside patio enjoying their five dollar blueberry muffin and coffee special.

From here we circled a few more blocks and found a lunch spot - Van Winkle Sandwiches - and sat down for Montreal smoked meat and poutine, which we enjoyed at a leisurely pace as we people-watched the many tourists passing back and forth on the street.

Our three hours passed quickly and soon we were back at the marina to meet our friend Tula, who is Magnus's age, and one of the two daughters of our friends Dave and Kira. She is in Montreal attending university and her and Magnus have been great buddies for many years. It was very nice to see her again.

The dinghy ride back to SeaLight was choppy as hell as the hundreds of Sunday boaters had waked out the channel. I was a bit worried for Tula as I remembered she was prone to seasickness, but she did fine and seemed to actually enjoy the rollecoaster ride. We made it back to the boat in one piece and settled in for an afternoon beverage and some long conversations. I left Tula and Magnus alone much of the time but popped in frequently to take drink orders, deliver snacks, or join in the conversation. It was Tula's parents who visited us in Bahamas for a week in February and I told Tula it was probably the best single week of the entire trip as we experienced so many things and covered so much ground, with fancy gin and tonics along the way. I also told her how we'd spent hours discussing the journey to adulthood our combined four kids were undertaking and how immensely proud we were of all of them. After I said my piece, I used the incredible pineapple slicer to eviscerate the pineapple resting on the countertop and delivered a perfectly cut stack of pineapple slices and a fancy rum drink mixed in the hollowed out pineapple chassis. They seemed to like it.

Our snacking and drinking rolled right into dinner and I made the kids a big cockpit feast of roasted chicken, beans, broccoli, and corn and we washed it down with rest of the goon bag - good to the final drop.

8 pm arrived and as promised, I set out to dingy the kids back into Montreal for a night on the town. Unfortunately, we only got a few hundred feet before the engine (which had been acting up the last few outings) decided it would go no faster than idle speed and sputter out every thirty seconds. We hobbled back to the boat and I tried the few tricks I know to fix an outboard but none of them worked. I did manage to get them into shore where they called up an Uber to meet Tula's sister Esme and their friends downtown for some Montreal shenanigans.

I played around with the engine for a while then gave up and retired to my bed for a call with Ana then a bit of doom scrolling then a gentle nap. Magnus called me for a pickup around 1 am and I managed to drag myself out of bed and collect him at the dock. He'd had a great night and discovered a fantastic "new to you" hobo beer - Colt 45 that he wore on his breath proudly.

I shielded my face and scurrried back to my cabin.

The St Lawrence River and Rise of the Mast

St-Ours to Ile aux Fermiers, Montreal - 46 nautical miles sailed, 1 lock, 1 mast raised

Dawn arrived in St-Ours, awaking the birds, the bees, and the goddamn mosquitos that had infiltrated SeaLight last evening, providing for an annoying night's sleep where I hid my head under the sheets for most of the night as protection from the bloodsuckers. As light penetrated the cabin, they reanimated like the undead. They rose from the bilge, the cracks in the floor, from between the cushions, out of the cupboards, from within the precious conch horn, out of the electrical panel, up from the toilets, down from the ceiling, from amidst the leaves of the pineapple sitting on the counter, and I swear one pulled itself out of the hair matted into one of Ana's brushes. I went on a killing spree like a berserker viking, smashing them on every surface, whipping them with towels, double hand slapping them out of the air, sucking them in with the hand vaccuum, and mashing them with Ana's decorator cushions - the ones with the fancy black and red patterns so she'd not notice the bug tissue and blood spatter. I felt elated after the mass murders, very unlike me.

After a leisurely breakfast of pesto, ham, and egg sandwiches, we were relieved when at precisely 9 am the lock gate opened, the green light shone, and six boats creeped slowly and carefully into the massive lock. The lock was the largest we've seen yet and could have held at at least another three large boats. It was also different in that there was a floating dock inside the lock to tie your lines to, as opposed to hanging onto slimy ropes strung from the concrete of the lock itself. It was a very classy operation, and they charged us 53 bucks for the privilege of a single passage.

We proceeded northward on the Richelieu River, happy we'd completed the final lock of this leg of the journey. We only had seven more to go in the coming week on the St Lawrence Seaway, but Magnus and I would have to handle those on our own as Curtis had a plane to catch in Montreal at 5 pm today, his part of this adventure story coming to an exciting close. I wasn't worried as we'd built up a wealth of lock experience since our start in Coxsackie, which felt like a year ago.

We hit the big waters of the St. Lawrence River at around 11 am and hung a right into the Sorel Yacht Club where we'd arranged to use their mast crane for the incredibly low price of $60 Canadian. This made the US $100 we paid back in Castleton look like a royal rip-off, never mind the Hop-O-Nose marina there who charged US $500 - $600 for the full service option. It's good be be back on home turf.

There was one boat already at the crane station so Curt and I helped them while Magnus worked with the dock hand to fill our diesel, do a pump-out, and pay for everything, then later came to join us. The mast raising went well and as we did it the Quebecer couple told us a harrowing story of how they had lost their rudder in the middle of the ocean between the Bahamas and Turks and Caicos and had to abandon ship and be water rescued by the US Coast Guard and dropped off at the Bahamian island of Inagua. Incredibly, their disabled boat showed up 24 hours later a few miles from where they were and a fishermen found it and towed it in for them. This made the few misadventures we faced look sad and lame in comparison, so I should have just made up a great story like that. But then one of y'all would have felt like punching me out and probably done it.

Our own mast raising went perfectly and we were done in under an hour. After the fourth time raising and lowering it, I feel I'm becoming quite proficient so if anybody needs help with theirs...

Curtis's Uber arrived at 1:30 to shuttle him to the bus stop for the long ride to Montreal. We took a final photo of ourselves, shared a round of hugs and sadly sent him off. It had been an incredible week. So many hours chatting, lots of laughs, a few surprises, delays, conquests, tight spots, victories, a little bit of drinking, and a chance for him and Magnus to spend a significant amount of time together. My brother is a cool cat and a deep thinker and it was a real privilege to have him onboard.

After disassembling the two wooden horses we used to support the mast and depositing it into a tidy pile for the marina to dispose of, we returned to the boat, pushed off, and headed upstream towards Montreal. The current was not as bad as I expected and we managed a respectable five knots. We took turns at the helm while the other did boat jobs; Magnus cleaned the deck with glorious clean lake water dipped from a bucket (I appreciate fresh water far more now) and I organized the deck lines and tuned the rigging, and started reconnecting all the mast wiring. At one straightaway the autopilot took care of steering while we both wrestled the boom back onto the mast and installed the sail pack.

We arrived to the Ile aux Fermiers anchorage just north of Montreal around 7 pm, dropped the hook, then finished off a couple boat jobs before Magnus took the dinghy out for a high speed rip around the bay and I assembled some leftovers for dinner.

It had been another huge day and having the mast back up made SeaLight feel like a sailboat again.

The Chambly Canal

St-Jean-sur-Richelieu to St-Ours - 37 nautical miles sailed, 9 locks, 4 kilometres walked

After waking up feeling blissfully fresh we returned to Super C and picked up two goon bags for a spectacular price. Magnus joined us this time and did his own shopping, picking up a stick of deodorant at the Dollarama. We stopped to see the lockmaster on the way back and were delighted to hear we had been scheduled to get into the canal for 11 am. We were so happy we offered to crack open a goon bag right there have celebatory drinks with her. Though tempted, her professionalism shone through, and she politely declined, and suggested we hold off on the bags until we'd made it through the canal. Wise advice.

At ten to eleven we got the call and a parade of boats made their way beneath the bridge and towards the lock. We were happy to see we'd be locking through with our friends from vessels Hibiscus and Voila.

The two smaller vessels were directed to enter first and we slid in behind them. The lock was incredibly small and the three of us were packed in like tin can mussels. We had less than a foot of clearance from the end of the mast to the lock wall, and maybe a couple feet at the front, ready to spear into the back of Hibiscus. The operation of the lock was fascinating - it was all done manually with the use of removable hand winches. They used a winch on a fitting to close the upstream lock doors once we were in, then another to close the internal valves. Next they walked to the downstream lock doors and winched opened the internal valves to release water, and the lock emptied rapidly. While they did this, we used boat hooks and ropes to keep SeaLight in position and away from the wall and other two boats. Once emptied, they winched open the downstream door and directed us to slowly leave the chamber and tie up at the nearby dock as we had to time our departure with the opening of a bridge that was about an hour and a half away. For 45 minutes we visited with our boater friends, and during that time the lockmaster came over and had me sign a waver saying I acknowledged the depths in the Chamblay Canal were guaranteed to be only 6' 6" and any damage I incurred becuase of a deeper draft would be my responsiblity. Knowing our draft was six feet, or maybe a couple inches more, I signed, but felt a bit of anxiety building, as it inevitably does when boating into a new, risky situation.

Soon we were off, traveling at the recommended 5.5 knots to time the bridges. In a word, the canal was beautiful. It was very narrow and in some parts we were able to reach out with boat hooks on either side and touch the edges. Many sections were forested and felt remote, and at times we could spot the Richelieu River through the trees running alongside us. A lovely, paved biking path ran along the canal for much of it and it was full of runners, walkers, bikers, scooters, and rollerbladers. There were a few homes that backed onto the canal and more than once we saw folks sitting in chairs on their patios watching the boats float by.

We passed through or beneath a number of bridges and eight more locks and after four hours exited at the town of Chambly, famous for the Unibroue brewery and their signature beer Blanche de Chambly. Though dangerously close to submitting to temptation and stopping to explore the town and brewery, we decided to continue on to reach the final lock, which was still several hours away and had an overnight tie-up.

After passing through the Chambly Basin, and gorgeous bay rounded by the town and hundreds of classy houses, we were back in the spacious Richelieu River and cruised at over 8 knots headed due north. Along the way were some magnificent waterfront chateaus, but also many modest small houses. It was easy to see why Quebec is called La Belle Province.

We reached the town of St-Ours and found one of two remaining spots at the lock dock. The delicious toasted turkey-pesto sandwiches Curtis had made for lunch had completely worn off so Magnus offered to make dinner for us and it was ready shortly after we arrived so we sat down for a hearty feed of pork pasta with splashes of wine. It turned out well and I was so happy to see Magnus had taken an interest in cooking during his time in Scotland. He did a fine job.

After dinner Magnus went on a scouting mission and reported back that he'd found a massive inventory of firewood and a series of firepits in the park adjacent to the lock. We rounded up Jonathan and Marcel from Hibiscus and Peterboroughian brothers James and Alex from Geez Louise, who were tied up in front of us and had helped us dock. We lured them in with the promise of a virgin goon bag. It worked.

The fire blazed, conversation flowed, red wine spilled, stories were told, laughter ensued. It was an amazing night and brought back fond memories of the many late night campfires we'd had on Bahamian beaches with new friends.

It was not an early night.

A Day of Locks and Arrival at Lake Champlain

Lock 4 to Orchard Point, Lake Champlain - 75 nautical miles sailed, 7 locks

Despite pulling anchor and leaving at 6am, the Frenchies got the jump on us and were nowhere to be seen. It was a beautiful morning and I could tell that it was going to be a hot day once the sun burned off the morning chill.

When we reached lock 5 we found our Quebecer friends at the front of the queue, followed by Bobcat, then two other sailboats. The lock opened shortly after 8 am and the boats entered one by one and got tied up. We managed to sqeeuze SeaLight's wide arse into the remaining space and the lock lift was smooth and fast. 

The remaining locks were similarly fast and trouble free and time passed rapidly. Halfway through the locks we reached the highest elevation and began the downhill portion, which we found easier, but the crew on the sailboat behind us had a hell of a time snagging the lock ropes with their boat hooks so their boat was drifting out of control frequently. We kept a good distance from them.

We passed one amazing property that fronted on a lock and a gorgeous bay. But when we got closer we realized it was beautiful from afar, but far from beautiful. On the lawn was a rusted snowmobile surrounded by dandelions. Curtis called it Polaris Yard Art. Beside the house was a beaten-up tractor that hadn't moved in years and other rusted out trucks up on cinder blocks, one of which, ironically, had a load full of old tires. At the shoreline was a busted up kayak, cords of driftwood lying haphazardly, the ripped up remains of a greenhouse, a scary shed no doubt harbouring legions of rats, and other piles of random junk. Towards the back of the property was a boat and trailer graveyard with hulking vessels lying in severe states of disrepair and neglact. The house itself probably started out nice, but was now leaning strangely, had a curling roof, and bedsheets hung across the windows. The only thing I couldn't spot was a pitbull chained to an engine block but that was probably on the other side of the house.

We completed the last lock at around 3:30 and pulled up to the fuel dock at the nearby marina and had the fastest fuel stop we've ever experienced. We were in and out of there in twelve minutes. In that time we pumped in 20 gallons of diesel, 30 gallons of water, used the john, and had a tour of of the bar and restaurant by the shirtless, leather-hided gentleman working there who was fast, efficient, and friendly. He looked a bit like Iggy Pop, but had better hair.

From here we motored north through the ever widening channel until we reached the south end of Lake Champlain shortly after 8 pm and there found a gorgeous anchorage with a backdrop of a classy lighthouse, a state park, and a sun glowing deep red from what seemed to be smoke in the air.

It had been a long day so we had a quiet dinner, glass of vino from the goon bag, then called it a night in preparation for tomorrow's 5 am start.

All Day in St-Jean-sur-Richelieu

St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, 11 kilometres walked

Sluggish. Dopey. Blurry. Those were the themes for the day as we lounged around St-Jean nursing hangovers.

We visited the lockmaster to check on the situation and were told the big boss had approved more staffing for Friday so there was a chance we'd get through sometime in the afternoon, but by latest it would be Saturday.

The mushroom, cheese, and ham omlettes kicked off the healing process, aided in no small part by the addition of the last of the tubed pork sausage we picked up in the US. It's strange this particular product is competely unavailable in Canada. Makes me think it's either deathly carcinogenic or America's best kept secret.

Curt and I walked to the Super C grocery store and loaded up on groceries, which were strangely inexpensive. We also tried to buy two boxes of Carboardeaux, but the clerk pulled out their weekly flyer and insisted we return tomorrow when they would be fifteen bucks off. We then moved onto a hardware store where I grabbed some adhesive for a little boat job. Lastly, we stopped at a gas station near the locks for two more cases of fresh beer as our supply was running dangerously low. Magnus stayed back and did some exploring on his own.

As I had neglected to bring the buggy we had to carry our purchases back and we returned to the boat with lengthened arms (I was immensely happy Curtis got to experience the all-day expedition known as Grocery Shopping for Cruisers). As we were loading up the refrigerator Curt dropped a beer on a sharp edge and exploded it, spraying a fine mist of Saporo over the rest of the provisions. The fridge needed a good cleaning and defrosting anyway.

We moved onto the boat job for the day - resticking the flooring tiles in the cockpit and stern which had become untethered. The product we got was a Lepage No More Nails, marine version, and it worked like a charm.

The three of us took a walk back to the lock to check on things, then strolled back through downtown and ran into our new Quebecer friend Richard, who was standing in front of Tavernn La Soif, our favourite dive bar, where we'd left him last night, but now he was smoking a joint with some buddies. He was thrilled to see us and offered the spliff, but we made the strangely mature decision to pass on the opportunity, fearing it would lead to another blinder.

Back at the boat we had dinner, played a game of dice, listened to some vintage Mitsou tunes, then watched a fabulous documentary called A Song of Hope, which was the story of Dread Zeppelin. The band's specialty was, of course, Led Zeppelin covers done in a reggae style led by an Elvis impersonator who was handed water and towels on stage by his man-slave Charlie Haj. We were early fans of the band, seeing them a couple times at the campus bar in Saskatoon, and it brought back many fond, though fogged memories.

We all went to bed early, in need of a nourishing deep cell recharge.