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.

Dodging McDonalds Wrappers and Hubcaps

Kingston, New York - 3 miles in dinghy, 17 kilometres walked

Seeing strangers walking along highway ditches brings out strange behavior in people.

For our big day in Kingston, Dad and I decided to take in a movie at the local cinema. Problem was, there was no public transport here and cheap sailors don't pay for taxis so we had to walk. And it was raining like hell. We first rode the dinghy into town from the anchorage, dodging the debris field of floating sticks, weeds, and logs flushed down the Rondout Creek from the heavy rains, and after scoping out a few potential docking locations and ranking them for risk of theft, quality of dock, likelihood of having to pay, and accessiblity to downtown, we chose the empty dock at a waterfront restaurant that was not yet open for the day.

I punched our destination into Google Maps and it recommended a walking route. I don't know what criteria the AI uses for choosing these, but I heard it snicker a bit after we started our way along the proposed route, so I suspect it gives you the worst possible track for enjoyability and ease of walking, then it brags to its AI buddies about how it got humans to do yet another extraordinarily daft thing.

At first it was lovely - a quiet, wooded trail that ran parallel to a highway. But after a kilometer or two the trail ended, and we were stuck with no forward route other than the highway. Becuase we're way too manly to admit a mistake and backtrack, we forged ahead, choosing the right-hand shoulder of the highway, which was littered with all sorts of junk - candy wrappers, iron hooks, glass, mufflers, lug nuts, and we even saw a ninja turtle stuffed animal, now covered with muck and leaves. As we walked, it would rain for a while, then stop and get warm so we're remove our rainjackets. Then the rain would return. After one such wardrobe change we saw something whiz by us and land in the ditch. It was a hubcap, definitely an accident. We continued walking. Soon, a half can of Miller Light appeared in flight and pinged off the top of my head, followed by some down-pitching Doppler laughter. Fortunately I was wearing my Moosehead toque, saving me from a scalping, but we did start to wonder if we were being purposely targetted. We turned, and walked backwards to see where all these items were coming from. A half-eaten chocolate bar was tossed at us from the window of a scratched up Toyota Corolla. These highway scumbags were trying to hit us on purpose!

When we got a break in the traffic flow we ran across the highway, jumped the dividers, then continued walking alongside the oncoming lane, hoping we'd have a better chance of avoiding the trash missiles. We saw a Cybertruck approaching. As it neared we saw the driver's window lower then a hand appear, holding a bag of McDonald's garbage. I picked up a rotten banana and Dad grabbed a stick. The driver hurled the bag as the truck passed and I simultaneously chucked the banana, which went right in the window and splattered on his face and the Musky interior of the ferociously ugly vehicle. Dad grimaced at the driver then used the stick to bat away the bag and it exploded in a puff of Big Mac wrappers, abandoned fries, and the remnants of a strawberry shake.

The next vehicle was a Cadillac, driven by a sweet granny and grandpa. But even the oldies can be vicious. Granny leaned out the passenger side and first threw a grapefruit, then a loaded Depends underpants diaper at us. Gross! Dad clubbed the grapefruit with the stick bat and it exploded all over the both of us, but we like grapefruit so no biggie, especially since we happened to be wearing our rain gear in the on-again off-again showers. We wisely dodged the diaper and it bounced a couple of times then rolled into the opposite lane where a big truck drove over it, making a whopping squishing sound.

This sick game went on for a while and we were happy to finally make it to the exit and get the hell off this highway of unpleasantness.

We arrived at the cinema, which was inside a mall that was otherwise completely deserted except for one hairdresser and a whole bunch of mall walkers. Besides this, there were no stores left in the mall and every space was vacant. It was creepy and strange.

Since there was nothing to eat there and we had a bit of time before the movie we walked to the nearby Five Guys burger joint, but had to parkour through a small forest path and rock retaining wall to get there quickly. We ordered and were surprised to see the burgers were doubles and exceptionally greasy and the medium fries were enough for a hockey team. We ate as fast as we could then got back to the cinema just in time for the movie Sinners.

We didn't love it, but didn't hate it, and the movie seemed to either lack focus or was the first in the emerging Musical/Horror/Western/Romance/Historical Drama genre.

The rain was still falling so we checked Uber and got a price of over forty US bucks to get back to the docks. Stuff that. We walked back, through a busy commerical corridor, and along the way Dad picked up a shirt at the Salvation Army Thrift Store (which earned a wink from Mini-Ana who was still sitting on my shoulder) and I picked up a nice tap and die set and some drill bits from Harbour Freight (which earned a sad frown from Mini-Ana, but then I explained to her it was required for the SeaLight deck light which would make our boat even more fabulous, and she was okay with that).

After our very long walk we made it back to the dinghy, returned to SeaLight, hung our clothing on every available surface of the boat, turned on the fans and heater, had jalapeno chips and wine for supper as we were still full from the burgers, played cards, then crashed out.

A Quick Fix at Collins Bay Marina

As we pulled anchor at 4am and quietly motored away from Andrew’s place, my phone buzzed with a text.

    Good luck today! It was great seeing you guys.

    I replied, thanks again man, we had so much fun!

We motored westward just off the shoreline so were able to watch the city slowly waking up. The few vehicles were outnumbered by the bikers and walkers on the waterfront path out for their morning exercise. The sun was up as we passed by Kingston’s downtown, and my phone again buzzed with a text.

    I can see you guys! The boat looks great out there!

I looked to the shoreline but couldn’t make out Andrew’s black truck. He too had an early start as he had to travel to Hamilton today, but obviously went into the hotel before heading out to the highway. That’s Andrew, always has our back.

We arrived at Collins Bay Marina far in advance of our scheduled haul out time, so we just tied up at the gas dock and waited until they were ready for us. I then motored the boat into the far channel and into the slip right beside the shoreline and the giant mobile crane. The marina owner came by, introduced himself, then gave us a rundown of the procedure, which was basically us getting the hell out of the way and letting them take care of everything.

From the gravel parking lot we watched them rig the lifting straps up, attach the line from the crane, then lift ten tons of SeaLight out of the water like she was a floatie toy. They set her down gently on boat stands, chained them up, then leaned a ladder up against the side of the boat and handed her back to us. As I was expecting this to be a fast fix they kept all the cables and straps attached so they could get her back into the water.

While I got to work on the seal, Ana and Stella walked over to the nearby marine store to pick up a new anode for the shaft, which is a magnesium fitting that bolts onto the propeller and is used to prevent corrosion on the underwater metal pieces. Since the boat was out of the water, it was an opportune time to make this repair. It would turn out to be the only worthwhile repair done.

After removing the mattress from Stella’s cabin I discovered removable panels that gave me the access I needed to the prop, seal, and transmission. If I had been a bit smarter and discovered this earlier, then Marty and I could have easily clamped the seal and a nice temporary fix would have been in place. Lesson learned.

As I got to work it became immediately apparent that I didn’t have all the tools required for the job. Fortunately the marina owner was kind enough to lend me a bag full of tools including a gear puller, giant crescent wrenches, large sockets, hammers, and a bunch of other stuff. The job was to unbolt the shaft coupling from the transmission, which I was able to do, then remove the nut holding the coupling onto the prop shaft, which I was able to do, then remove the coupling from the tapered shaft which would then allow me to slide the old shaft seal off and slide the new one back on. Sadly, the coupling would not come off. After some cursory and unsuccessful hammering I referenced Youtube and found all the tricks usually used to remove stubborn shaft couplings. Lying prone with a lamp strapped to my head, I wrenched, hammered, torqued, twisted, beat down, inspected, oiled, rehammered, and beat the shit out of both the coupling and my own body until I was covered in bruises and could barely grip the hammer any more. Yet, the stuck coupling looked back at me, glistening with my own sweat. Somewhere along the line the marina guys came back and said they had to unhook us to go and lift a different boat.

I had a peach for lunch then got back to it and worked on it for several hours more as Ana tried to help as best as she could and Stella kept herself busy watching the newly release season of Outer Banks and imagining herself as a heroic pogue. The absolute worst part of it was that it was a hot and glorious day – the best weather of the trip, and here we were high and dry in a gravel parking lot.

Andrew surprised us by arriving at the boat around 5pm, fresh back from his trip to Hamilton, and drove me to Home Depot to pick up some new tools including a propane torch. We both got back on the job and attempted to torch the fucker off. With my head in the engine compartment I flamed the coupling until a thick cloud of toxic smoke enclosed the coupling, my head, and the entire interior of the boat. I then beat it using a four pound hammer and all my might while Andrew held the prop shaft steady on the outside of the boat. But she wouldn’t budge.

As the light was fading, we threw in the towel and caught a ride with Andrew back to his place, stopping to get McDonald’s along the way. We then watched a really, really bad horror movie, but it was nothing compared to the horror this day had become.