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.
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