July 20, 2023 – Boldt Castle, Alexandria Bay, Sailboat Meets Rock

I am up at 6 and crank out a few pages of journaling then give the boat a good washing. By 8:30 the dock lines are free and we are on our way east to Boldt Castle. This hadn’t been part of the original itinerary but we were strangely running a little ahead of schedule so we decided to push ahead. We’d last visited here about five years ago and were simply astonished at what we found. Today, it feels just as exciting and new and we explore the grounds and castle from top to bottom. Mom loves it. And because we arrived here early we were first in and the crowds really didn’t become unbearable until we were on our way out.

We motor from the Boldt Castle docks over to Alexandria Bay, the main US Thousand Islands party town. We pull the sailboat up to the free 4-hour public docks and are the only sailboat there, and possibly in the entire town. This is powerboat central, complete with bikini girls, jacked-up muscle dudes, overpowered pontoon boats, and coolers full of Coors Light. I join the girls for a walk down the main street of shops but my infinitesimally small reservoir of shopping stamina flames out almost immediately and I head back to the boat to construct tuna sandwiches to the sweet sounds of death metal.

When the girls return it’s time to cross the border back into Canada. This is as far east as we will go on this trip and we are 180 nautical miles in a straight line away from our home marina. Go west, young man.

As we wind and twist our way through channels and around islands back into Rockport, Ontario, I am filled with dread. Well maybe not dread, but last year checking back into Canada on our boat trip was a royal pain in the ass. And we are not disappointed this year. We get tied up at Huck’s Marine and while I am getting a diesel fill and pump out, Ana calls into border services. She is on hold for nearly an hour when what sounds like a 16 year old flunkie finally takes her call. He asks the basic info – passengers, passport numbers, where we visited, and thirty other unnecessary questions. Then he asks what we bought. She gives him the consolidated total for the four of us.

“But what exactly did you buy?” he asks.

“Some clothing, groceries, some alcohol, a few other things.”

“How many dollars worth of merchandise are you, just you, bringing back?”

Ana throws him a number. I write it down and do some quick math to make sure our four individual totals will add up.

“Give me a listing of what you bought.”

“What? Really?” Ana says exasperated. “Well, I bought a very nice bracelet for $13, not too flashy, but with a touch of class. And I bought a silver ring, which was also $13 dollars, and the vendor says it’s real and I think it is actually real, but it’s hard to be sure. My mom – she’s Portuguese – showed me this trick to know if something is real silver so I’ll do that when we get home. In any case, the ring goes very well with the bracelet, not to mention the dress I bought here too, which was $47 and is very nice. Short sleeves, long at the leg, quite modest with just a hint of cleavage. Oh, I found some amazing shoes at a consignment store in Rochester, really stunning. Not sure if you’ve seen this style but they have a…”

“OK, that’s enough. Tell me about the alcohol you bought and who bought it.”

This stupidity goes on and on for a very long time and our beautiful afternoon is slowly evaporating. The only thing he doesn’t ask about is if we are carrying any weapons, undocumented migrants, explosives, or drugs (all the things you’d think they should care about). Everybody that travels these lakes by boat knows there is no goddamn way that anybody from Canadian Border Services is coming down to check you, as there’s probably a grand total of five of them covering all the boats coming into the country. Plus many boaters have Nexus so if they do get caught bringing over illegal stuff they are royally screwed so most are generally very cautious.

The Customs Kid finally clears us and gives Ana a confirmation number then we blast out of the marina and head for the Navy Islands to find an anchorage for the evening. We bitch for a while about the shitty system Canada has for clearing boaters, when our best friends to the south have a perfectly good app they’d probably give us for free.

The ride through the islands is beautiful and peaceful until it is not. As I am maneuvering through a tight channel with strong currents there is suddenly an explosive bang and the 20,000 boat surges out of the water up and to the left then crashes back down. We have just struck a giant rock moving at 5 knots. Stella’s water goes flying. Stuff gets toppled everywhere. Mom nearly gets flung off the front of the boat where she was relaxing. Ana screams. Once I regain my footing I pull back on the throttle and let the boat coast. I test the steering, and it seems to be working so perhaps the rudder is not damaged. There is something floating in the water behind us, but we can’t tell what it is. Ana goes down below to check for water ingress. Looks like the hull is fine and not taking on any water. Stuff in the cabins is all tossed around and our water dispenser base has popped its screws and is lying on the counter. Most of the eggs have broken and there’s a pool of yolk on the counter. I get the boat back underway as Ana cleans up down below.

I am rattled.

Remember I wrote earlier how we like to keep the disasters fresh? No matter how much experience I get as a boater, and how many mistakes I make and learn from, the potential for disaster is simply always there. As I’m piloting the boat I think, how the hell did I hit that rock?? What could I have done differently? Well, I should have reduced speed when I saw the difficult turns required in the channel. Maybe I should have tried to find a different route. Maybe I should have had a spotter on the front of the boat. Maybe I was in too much of a rush. Maybe I should have calibrated my charts and GPS better. These thoughts rocket through my head and I feel sick to my stomach as I imagine the potential damage to the keel bolts and fiberglass. Fuck.

We finally get to the Navy Islands and it takes a long time to find a spot to anchor. I am indecisive, uncertain, and keep second guessing myself. Ana and I talk it through and we find a good anchorage, get the hook set in deep, turn off the boat, and finally have a chance to stop and reset. We all jump in the water for a swim, and at nearly 27 degrees it feels amazing. I do a bit of snorkeling while the ladies float on pool noodles then we assemble back at the boat and put together a delicious dinner of grilled steak, roast potatoes with basil and cilantro, tomato salad, garlic bread, and we feast. But as we are feasting we realize we’ve taken a bit too long to prepare dinner and a frenzy of ravenous and determined mosquitos are feasting on us. We close up all the canvas and the boat windows and retire to the cabin, but they’ve infiltrated the inside too and we swat endlessly as we eat.

Mom and Stella go to their cabins to do war with the mozzies while Ana and I stay up for another hour turning over every hiding place in the boat, capturing the blood filled buggers with paper towels.

It’s time to put the wraps on this day.

July 19, 2023 – A Thousand Islands

“Wake up, need your help with a freighter.”

There’s nothing that wakes you up faster than the word “freighter” on an overnight sailing run. I throw my clothes on and climb up into the cockpit. Ahead of us some distance are three giant lights, a high white, a lower white, and a green and these belong to a large ship. The problem is, the light configuration I’m seeing does not make any sense. If the ship were coming directly towards us, we should be seeing red and green lights. If he were going away from us, we should be seeing just white lights. But the combination of green and white tell us nothing about what this ship is or where it’s going, but we do know it is huge. We try altering course first to starboard, then after a while we swing back to port, but it seems like the ship is just sitting there. We slow right down and wait. All of a sudden the ship takes off towards shore, thankfully away from us, and his lights still don’t make sense so I don’t know what the hell it was. But Ana did the right thing by slowing down and gathering the crew for a second opinion.

For the first time in the trip, we had been able to get the cloth out and do some sailing. Actually, motor sailing as the wind was coming from 30 degrees so not giving us much power with just the jib sail so we ran the engine too, which sort of defeats the purpose of nice quiet lake sailing, but when you have to get somewhere that’s just what you do. It lasted for about two hours then the wind shifted northward in our face and we were back to motoring.

Around 2am or so the girls went to bed and Mom joined me in the cockpit. When she came out she was shocked to see me hanging off the back of the boat in the dinghy with a lifejacket on. I had decided to get in there to ensure the motor was securely attached as the wind was strong, the waves were choppy, and the towed dinghy was getting pretty beaten up. She thought there was a major emergency operation underway, but I soon jumped back in the cockpit and everything was as normal as I could be.

Mom and I chat about so many different things as we sit in the cockpit experiencing Lake Ontario at night, the first time for her, and the most recent of many for me, but always mesmerizing. The new moon renders the water black and invisible. The strong winds pummel the boat and she creaks and whines as she rolls back and forth chaotically, threatening danger, but we are safe. Time drags on stubbornly when you think about it but moves rapidly when your mind is elsewhere. I am glad Mom gets to experience this. As dawn approaches I am having a tough time keeping my eyes open so Mom offers to stand watch solo while I cat nap. I doze for about an hour and when I awake Mom has been busy taking photos of the sunrise as we glide off Lake Ontario and into the St. Lawrence seaway and its  Thousand Islands.

Mom heads down for a nap and Ana wakes up shortly after that and joins me in the cockpit. We are now in northern shield land with a landscape of pine trees, rocks, shale, and islands everywhere. By 9am we are tied up at the public dock in Clayton, New York and it is a beautiful summer morning. I immediately crash and sleep for two hours while the ladies get up, get showered, and get ready for the day.

Clayton is excellent as always. The girls go wild exploring the many shops and I even pick up a couple of purchases at the hardware store – a multi-coloured ski rope to rebuild the towing harness for my dinghy, and a pack of Wrigley’s gum, a stick of which I offer to Stella and am rewarded with a suspicious look then, “Dad, I know it’s a trap.”

See what happens when I try to do something nice? I have no idea how she even knows about those old school finger snapping gum traps. Probably saw it on TikTok.

There’s a lovely line of about 20 multi-coloured Adirondack chairs on the Clayton waterfront so we each take a seat and enjoy the scene around us – power boats zipping back and forth, runners on the waterfront path, tourists walking by with bags, local kids jumping into the water off the breakwall. Clayton has by far the nicest waterfront of all the towns in the Thousand Islands.

We decide to stop for lunch at the Hops Spot and I start with a delicious craft beer, then the food comes shortly after that. As we are eating my mom mentions this popular radio jockey from my youth in Saskatoon, whose name is Brent Loucks. He’s the guy you hear on the Princess Margaret Home Lottery radio commercials in Ontario. My mom works for a home lottery organization in Saskatoon and runs into him frequently.

“Mom, I gotta tell you something about Brent Loucks.”

“OK, what is it?” she asks, curious.

“Do you remember the Face Song?”

“The Face Song? Nope. What is it?”

“Well, when I was a kid he used to play this song on the radio for a joke. And that goddamn song’s been stuck in my head since then. That’s 40 years. Quite the earworm. You want to hear it?”

“Sure!”

I begin my awful singing.

“Scrub your hands (scrub your hands), wash your face (wash your face), comb your hair (comb your hair), before you get up each morning, every day! Do doo da do doot doot da doo.

Your hands are sure to shake hands with someone who’s hands are sure to be clean. Your hair is where your face begins and your face is the very first place to be seen.

Scrub your hands (scrub your hands), wash your face (wash your face), comb your hair (comb your hair), before you get up each morning, every day!”

Ana looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Stella is clearly embarrassed. Mom is flabbergasted.

“That song’s been stuck in your head for 40 years??” Mom asks incredulously.

“Uh huh.”

“How often do you think about it?”

“A few times a week. Oh, there’s another one rattling around up there in my brain too, a jingle about the Saskatoon Transit System. Take a bus, take a bus. Yes, I’ll take the bus! Take an STS, it will get you there. Doot doo doo doo doo, doo, doot, doo, doo, doo doo.”

“I think there might be something wrong with you,” Mom says. Both Ana and Stella nod in agreement.

“No shit.”

Ana gets word that Daryl and Lydia are on their way in so we head back to the boat and give them a hand with their dock lines. We have a visit and hear of their morning run from Little Sodus Bay, which was excellent. They take off for a walk through Clayton while Ana and Stella chill on the boat for a while and Mom and I take the dinghy for a ride to a nearby island for a swim, a cigar, and a beer – glorious! Once back, Stella and I jump in the dinghy and go for a high speed ride down the waterfront and beneath some low bridges. She is a speed demon.

We all meet up back in Sealight’s cockpit for evening pretzels and dip that Lydia brings over. As we are chatting Daryl notices the new towing line I had purchased.

“Where’d you get that Jamaican line?”

“In town today. Needed a better towing harness,” I say, then add, “Why Jamaica line?”

“It’s got the colours of the Jamaican flag. We have one exactly like it, bought it years ago,” Daryl says, then stops for a moment, points at me and says, “You copied me!”

I guess he’s been reading my blogs.

July 18, 2023 – Little Sodus Bay

The alarm goes off at 3 am. Before opening my eyes I hear heavy rainfall and strong winds rocking the boat. At first I think I’m dreaming as the forecast last night showed no rain, but when I’m fully awake I grab Ana’s phone and check the weather radar to find a small system just passing by us by. By the time Ana and I have prepped the inside of the boat the rain has passed so we get the rest of the departing checklist items done and ready to push off. Ana gives the stern of the boat a shove as I start to reverse, but I have to abandon the procedure when I notice she hasn’t fully made it back on the boat and is hanging by the lifelines ready to drop into the lake. Now Ana’s fallen off the boat in the past while docking, but it’s funny she’s doing it today as she prefers to have a crowd of bystanders to give them a good story. Maybe she’s just practicing for a spectacular mishap on a future docking.

She manages to pull herself back onto the boat before I can get to her to help and then we are on our way. We glide out of the channel and are soon on the lake in a world of black cut by hundreds of sparkling shore lights. There is a slight east wind, in our face, so this is going to again be a power boat ride.

The 6 hour run is effortless and as we are turning into the channel leading into Little Sodus Bay we pass a long barge with a loader scooping up huge buckets full of mud and rock from the lake floor. I am watching depth and charts closely as we move into the bay as it gets quite shallow on the west side. The bay is approximately 2 miles long by a half mile wide and is pretty and quiet. Bayfront cottages and houses populate the shoreline and there are several perfectly protected anchorages here. We travel to the far south end of the bay where the town of Fair Haven is located and pick up one of the available mooring balls, which takes a bit more effort than anticipated, then after doing a bit of research conclude that these moorings are private so we unhook and anchor a short distance away. We all load into the dinghy, motor into the public dock and tie up then start walking.

We find a typical, cute, American summer town with gift shops, coffee shops, a tackle store, a few restaurants and the all-encompassing gas station/grocery store/pizza place/caterer/hardware store which seems to be endemic in these parts. We swing in the playground, browse the gift shops, have a coffee, visit the gas station, and the only real event of note is that at 11am then again at 12 an ear-splitting emergency siren screeches out from the array of sirens mounted atop the fire station. It is so loud that we have to cover our ears. Based on two data points, it would seem this is the town chime at the top of the hour. After the second one we ask a clerk at one of the gift shops of the nature of this siren.

“It’s a call out to the volunteer firefighters. Something bad must have happened,” she says.

“Does something bad happen here at the exact top of every hour?” I ask.

“Nope,” she replies. “Just a coincidence. But it does go off fairly regularly. All the small towns around here have them. In fact my grandfather’s house burned down last week in the small town where I live. The alarm went off for that one.”

Our last stop before returning to the boat is the Fly By Night Cooking Company, a local sweetery, ironically named as we are told it’s been around for decades and the founder had just recently just passed away. In addition to the dozens of jars holding a huge variety of freshly baked cookies is a miniature museum with those tiny houses, tiny people, and tiny everything. It’s kitschy, cool, and Insta-worthy so we take a few photos and buy some cookies before returning to the boat.

The rest of the afternoon is spent chilling out – Stella and I do a circuit of the bay in the dinghy, I go for a swim, some naps are had, we play cards, we sit at the bow of the boat watching the fish surfacing for flies. It’s relaxing, peaceful, and possibly what one may expect of a sailing vacation, however these low action days are truly few and far between, so we enjoy it.

After a nice dinner of refried leftover shepherd’s pie (which could now be better described as a shepherd’s crumble), and some pan tossed broccoli and beans, Daryl and Lydia stop by for drinks and a chat. They arrived earlier in the afternoon and discovered that practically everything in Fair Haven closes at 2pm and the restaurants are mostly closed until Thursday. But they did find one open and had a decent meal.

Tonight’s plan is to do an 11 hour overnight sail to Clayton, New York, so shortly after 9pm we pull anchor and head back up the bay, giving Daryl and Lydia and their dinghy a ride up to their marina and brief night sailing experience. They have been exploring the idea of moving from power to sail as bankrupting themselves every time they have to fill up with gas, not to mention polluting the earth is becoming tiresome for them. But then a largish, modern sailboat these day is going for two hundred grand so it’s not an easy decision. Their plan was to do a slow overnight run with us pretending their power boat is a sailboat but there’s two big problems with doing that today. First, Daryl has a (ugh..) work meeting in the morning he needs to dial into so good internet is required, which you won’t get on the lake. Second, when you have a powerboat capable of doing 22 knots, slowly trawling along at 7 knots is psychologically impossible. It just can’t be done. And let’s face it – power boaters like going fast. They boat fast, they drive fast, they eat fast, they drink fast, they probably have sex fast too because they just can’t wait to get out on the water and up on plane. The only thing they don’t do fast is walking. They prefer not to walk at all because it is not motorized, so you are more likely to find them racing around on an atv, a motorbike, a side by side, a Hummer, an electric scooter, or a high tech jet pack. That’s just the way they roll.

As the hour of 11pm arrives we find ourselves far out into the lake with winds twice as strong as forecasted, miraculously coming from the north at 45 degrees to the boat so we are finally able to roll out the jib, winch it in tight, and do some sailing. Mom and I leave Ana and Stella in the cockpit as we are on second shift so it’s time to get a bit of sleep.

July 17, 2023 – A Magnificent Waterfall, Storming the Spirit of Rochester, and Line Tossing

As I’m sitting in the cockpit eating a bowl of cereal and peanut butter toast I think to myself, it’s our last day in Rochester, need to make this one count. As if on queue, I hear this chugging noise and a gigantic freighter appears in the channel, practically blocking out all light. I call Mom up from the cabin so she can see it, and she’s shocked and thrilled at the size of it.

Today, we decide to split up, Scooby-Doo style. And I present Stella with a choice.

“What’s it going to be my dear, boring shopping with the ladies or awesome adventure with the dudes?” I ask her, trying to represent each option fairly.

“Hmmmm, I don’t know. Let me think about,” she says.

“Well we’re leaving in five minutes so you better make it fast.”

30 minutes later I find her in her cabin lying on her side with her phone attached to her face.

“Hey, what the hell? Are you coming?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“We’re leaving. And you don’t want to do boring shopping.”

She sits up, looks at me and says, “I have decided I will go with the boys.”

“Yesss!”

Stella and I take off in our dinghy and Daryl leaves in his as the ladies wander off to explore the nearby shops. We ignore the no wake signs and take off at full speed up the channel, beneath the lift bridge, past Hillbilly Harbor, and up to the abandoned Spirit of Rochester vessel which, as you may remember from last year, Daryl had partially infiltrated but our crusading party was held back by the sensibilities of the ladyfolk and the limitation that a member of the party was one year old and unable to walk. We had a quick look at the ship and decided we’d get back to that mission later. The immediate goal was to see how far up the Genessee River we could go with the dinghies.

The ride is exhilarating as we speed up the river, with high forested banks on both sides, punctuated intermittently by cliffs of shale rock. We see a pair of herons, pass beneath several industrial revolution era iron bridges, find a concrete spillway with water streaming down, and yet do not see a single other person. We travel for several miles then notice a fine mist in the distance. Rapids maybe?

We find a small beach and park the dinghies there, tying them to rocks, then scramble up the hill and find a rough path through the woods. We follow this for a short ways and it leads us back to the river, from where we can now see the source of the mist – a huge waterfall! Beside it, high up, is an old power station, or perhaps it’s still in operation as there are a few white work trucks parked beside it. We walk carefully across the rocks to get a close look, and the closer we get, the more slippery are the rocks, until we are finally as far as we can go and we stop to take in the remarkable scene. I’m not sure what we were expecting, but certainly not this. The mist is soaking our hair, our faces, and our clothes as we taken in the scenery. The waterfall is surrounded by a circular canyon and part of this canyon breaks down into a giant cave. We climb the rocks and walk into the cave which is damp, dark, and foreboding. We walk to the end and find a giant circular hole in the cavern roof where water is spilling down and pooling. Stella seems to be as impressed as Daryl and I and asks me to take three hundred pictures of her, which I obediently do.

We return to the dinghies, crack open a cold drink, and take a little rest before continuing back. Soon, we reach the Spirit of Rochester, and this time we mean business.

We tie the dinghies up just beneath the “Private Property – Entrance Forbidden” sign and Daryl and I penetrate the ship. Stella chooses to stay back, but soon she reconsiders and climbs the ship to join us, as she’s a rebel at heart.

The ship is creepy as hell. It used to be a cruising, party boat but has been abandoned for at least 20 years and is a ghost ship, haunted by its glorious past, now just a shell of a boat. There is junk lying everywhere – paper files, flotation devices, hunks of steel, blankets, oil containers, bus bins, racks, chunks of ceiling tile, and terrifying graffiti spray painted on the walls. We explore the first level, dodging flying birds that have made this their home. One of the cabins has a bare wooden table with the word “RAPE” spray painted above it. The graffiti on the galley refrigerator reads, “TODAY IS A NEW START TO LIFE” then beyond that images of skulls and hearts on the walls. We climb the stairs to the second level, sealed by a door. The door does not open easily and a rope hangs from the knob on the other side. Is it booby trapped? We push it and it opens, no explosion and no poison darts shot our way. Moldy life jackets, busted up chairs, and broken glass litter the floor. We go up one more level and find the helm, with pieces of radar equipment and electronics still there. The wheel is gone, as is the compass, but a telephone directory from 1998 lies on the desk.

Returning to the first level, Daryl finds a door that opens to a staircase leading downward. The engine room. Stella doesn’t want us to go, but how can we not? She knows the basement is where most people get axed in horror movies. It is surprisingly untouched. The diesel engines remain and even an inventory of spare parts. There is no graffiti or garbage here. Just abandoned. Forever.

We leave the ship, careful not to be seen by the pontoon boat that passes by. Back on the dinghies, we untie and take off. Mission accomplished.

The ladies are back at the boats and they proudly display their purchases. They’ve had a good morning but we are ready for the beach as it’s a hot and sunny day (I realized earlier why the weather is so perfect today…it’s a back to work Monday! But at least for these two weeks we are cheating the system.) We dinghy over to Ontario Beach Park and take Mom for a ride on the beautifully renovate carousel located there, then wander down to the beach and get our towels laid out. Stella and I approach the water for a swim but find five feet of thick green algae lapping at the shoreline and she immediately backs away. I walk down the beach a bit further and see no algae so walk into the water which is extremely shallow and smells bad. So bad that I just quickly dip my body in but keep my head and face dry so as not to infect my eyeballs.

Daryl has brought along his metal detector, on Ana’s request, and she takes up some beach scavenging with great joy. Finding valuable beach treasures by way of metal detecting is the cornerstone of Ana’s retirement plan, despite her never having used a metal detector before, so I am really hoping this works out. She returns after half an hour with a diamond studded miniature gun, a scrap of aluminum, a steel nut, and some metallic rocks. An excellent start, but she has some way to go in achieve massive passive cashflow from her new hobby.

We ditch the working class beach and retire to the exclusive yacht club pool which we have to ourselves since nobody goes to the yacht club on Mondays. We take advantage of this and plunder the pool noodle inventory which provides each of us with 12 noodles each and full floatation.

After a lovely dinner of Lydia’s fresh squash pasta and Mom’s shepherd’s pie, we move onto Boater Olympics, focusing on the line throwing event. This is where we get out a bunch of rope and practice coiling it then launching it at an imaginary dock hand. Many boaters don’t have a clue how to toss a line and they will come into dock and hurl a big twisted and messy rats nest of a rope to the dockhand standing two feet away but it will just drop straight into the water then get sucked into the prop and whamo, there’s another four thousand dollar repair job.

Everybody does well with the drill and before long the lines are being flung out 30 feet, straight and true. We also practice lassoing dock cleats, as this is sometimes necessary when there is no dock hand and you’re not able to get from your boat to the dock to cleat down the line. We try two different techniques for this with some success.

The rest of the evening is consumed by laundry, a pump out, boat cleanup, and preparation for tomorrow’s early morning departure for Little Sodus Bay.

July 16, 2023 – Christmas Morning in Rochester

Waking up at the Rochester Yacht Club is heavenly. It’s become one of our favourite places on the lake. Nice people, great hospitality, lovely pool, restaurant and bar, clean shower rooms, laundry, and access to all sorts of cool stuff to do. Which, today, looks like it will include shopping.

The ladies are riding the slow moving morning train and it’s not until after 11 that we’re walking out of the club to be collected by the Uber driver. He takes us to the nearest TJ Maxx outlet that Ana could find, in Irondequoit, and it takes so long to get there I feel like we’ve driven to Albany. I truly do not enjoy shopping, but to be fair I was given the option to stay at the boat. I decide to join them but bring the laptop so I can sequester myself in a book store or coffee shop while they pursue bargains.

The ladies hit the Maxx and I get settled into a nice table at the Barnes & Noble bookstore after a quick stop at Dick’s Sporting Goods to pick up two new masks, and at Target to check out a smart tv to replace the junky dumb one in Mom’s cabin that emits this unnatural blue glow. Before getting to writing I browse the magazine section and find an impressive selection for the anti-modern, freedom-loving, conspiracy-saddled, man’s man. Gun magazines are prominent but a special edition on assault rifles really catches my eye. But what to do with the guns? No problem, there’re magazines that offer detailed instructions for killing all sorts of things – elk, deer, humans, the government. I browsed some prepper magazines too and learned how to make pond water safe to drink in the event of world catastrophe, how to reload my spent ammo, how to make traps to catch edible animals, and some tips on outing traitorous liberals that survived the global holocaust and are trying to fit in with the rest of us patriots. Right beside that section is a small area of adult mags and I find an actual Penthouse that I desperately wanted to flip through but it’s bound in plastic, obviously to deter perved, cheap browsers who would never actually shell out cash for one. The only magazine that’s not sealed is one with a buff dude on the front wearing a red bikini stuffed beyond capacity, but I don’t pick that one up thinking it probably won’t align with my own personal preferences. So I move to the next section and find some cool mags on hot rods, outlaw bikers, bitchin old Corvettes, then a whole bunch on commando shit like fighter aircrafts, battle tanks, military tactics, modern warfare, soldier of fortune, which are all really fantastic, but the one that really stands out has a picture of Hitler on the front surrounded by his Nazi captains, in a V-formation sort of like those early Janet Jackson music videos. This one, I pick up. The first page has a giant swastika as does the back cover. Inside are a series of articles on Hitler and his amazing troupe of psychopaths, written in the most flattering terms. I flip through the pages, mesmerized, and shocked that a regular bookstore would actually sell garbage like this. Or maybe it was planted by the FBI so they could start tracking any lunatic that buys it. I put the magazine back, go to the bathroom to wash my hands, then get a nice decaf coffee and do some journaling.

The girls arrive sometime later with their treasures. Ana is so excited by her bargain conquests she starts pulling out toiletry items one by one to show me. Halfway through she pauses and says, “You probably don’t care about the toiletries I bought, right?”

“Right. I mean no, I do care. I care a lot. Very exciting.”

I am nothing if not a supportive husband.

We get word that Daryl and Lydia have arrived by Uber and Daryl decides to meet us for lunch at the Five Guys burger restaurant while Lydia does power shopping. This is nice because it gives Mom a chance to experience an essential part of boat vacations – walking across a hot parking lot dodging drivers bewildered by people actually walking. The only missing component is I’m usually carrying flats of beer on my shoulders while Ana is saddled with bags of groceries, but today we are relatively light (so far).

The burgers are delicious and the small fries Ana orders comes in a big brown shopping bag. In the bag is a large container full of fries then two more container loads dumped loose on top of those, enough to feed a largish wedding party.  We are all full after eating our burgers and the single container of fries, but I start picking away at the loose fries, swiping them through the little bowls of ketchup.

“Are you seriously going to keep going on those?” Ana asks me.

“I can’t think of any reason to stop,” I reply, licking my fingers.

We meet up with Lydia at the Target and I excitedly showed Ana the two 32” smart tv’s they have in stock. Along the way as I was telling the gang about the tvs, Daryl had said, “Not that I’m trying to copy you, but I was thinking of replacing the tv in our boat too.” But he is copying me. They have quite a history of copycatting and I’ll give you a few examples. Last year we bought a wicked skull bag at TJ Maxx, they bought the same skull bag. I picked up a great deal on a hundred-foot fluorescent green extension cord at Great Deals in Stoney Creek, they bought the same one. Ana bought a green soft-sided mini cooler, Lydia bought the same one, but in a better colour. I got my hair cut, Daryl got his cut. One time I clipped my toenails, then I saw Daryl cutting his only hours afterwards. Then there’s the whole Yuengling beer thing, total copycat. To be fair though, I will admit I’ve stolen more than a few of their ideas too…

By the time we are done shopping it looks like Christmas morning in Rochester so I have the gang assemble for a group photo of our retail trophies. Then it’s back to the marina for an afternoon of television installation, pool swims, and finding  space on the boat to jam in all the new stuff. I also decide to do a little experiment with Stella. She’s a teenager and all teenagers are addicted to heroin, sorry, I mean their phones, but the addiction is the same. Right next to where our boat is parked is an electric crane used for launching small boats. Daryl and I are standing with Stella when I point into the channel and say, “Hey, look at that rabbit over there!” As she looks over trying to first find the rabbit, then dealing with the mental confusion on how exactly a rabbit could be in the channel, I snatch her phone, tie it into the chain and rope hanging off the crane, then use the control mechanism to slowly raise it into the air. By the time Stella realizes she’s been had, the phone is already out of reach. Horrified, she begins leaping into the air, clawing at it, screaming wildly, “No Dad, nooooooo!!!” Daryl and I stand  by laughing cruelly as I raise it even higher into the air and her panic level rises right along with it.

“You’re never getting it back, ha ha ha!” I taunt.

“Or maybe it will drop and smash to pieces!” Daryl laughs.

“Please Dad, please! That phone means everything to me! My whole life is in there! It’s my reality! I can’t live without TicTok and Snapchat! How will I photograph myself 90 times per day and message my friends every 14 seconds? I can’t face a life with anxiety-free introspection, mental relaxation, interesting hobbies, and using my brain for creative thought. Dad, pleeeeeeaaase!!”

“OK, fine. But you have to give me a back scratch if I give it back.”

As I slowly lower the phone she does this amazing parkour leap off one of the dry docked boats, then bounds off a garbage bin then leaps from the top of a utility shed, all in slow motion, with this unforgettable gleeful look on her face as her fingers meet the phone and pull it from the crane’s wicked grasp. Then she disappears into her cabin and I don’t get my damn back scratch. I start thinking I might try the same trick with Ana’s phone, but she’d probably just punch me in the face, knock me unconscious then tie my foot into the crane and raise me up then beat me with a boat hook as she laughs uncontrollably then posts a video of the whole humiliating ordeal on Facebook. Too risky, I think, better just pick on Stella.

We all meet outside the boats for happy hour and to plan dinner. As we have a ton of leftovers we decide to eat that but Lydia has other plans. Here’re a few interesting facts on Lydia.

1. She is Chinese Malaysian

2. She loves all food, especially Chinese food

3. She eats five times more than anybody else, enjoys it twice as much, and stays slim and svelte, like a gazelle

Last year she found a Chinese restaurant called New East Star near the marina and loved it. So as we’re sitting at the picnic table she pulls up their online ordering app and we hear, “Ooh, the hand made noodles with beef, I’ll get that. And I’ll get the spring rolls and chicken balls. And I’ll get the steamed dumping. And I’ll get the hand made noodles with chicken, actually two of those. And I’ll get the wonton soup, and the egg drop soup and, oohh, I wonder what the house special soup is, I’ll get one of those too. And I’ll get the gang dang red curry beef. And I’ll get the moo shu shrimp. Oooh they have Mongolian beef, I’ll get two of those. And I’ll get the steamed tofu with mixed vegetables.”

Lydia then looks up at the rest of us, watching her, mesmerized, and says, “Hey, do you guys want any Chinese food?”

July 15, 2023 – Wilson to Rochester, Diesel Leaks, Engine Issues, and Thunderstorms

There’s something about waking up to the smell of spilled diesel that I really hate. Fortunately, I know what the problem is. Yesterday the lads at Bootleggers Cover filled my diesel tank to the point of it shooting out of the overflow valve on the side of the boat then I think they pressure pumped a bit more in just to make sure it was full and the underwater plant life was dead. It’s really my fault as I should have been paying more attention and asking them to stop when it was getting close to full. I open the windows in the boat and put the fans on high speed which clears the air, then get settled in the cockpit for a while until Stella is up, then I roll back her mattress to expose the fuel tank beneath her bed. Last time this happened, I mopped up the diesel with a blue shop rag. This time there is at least a gallon or two so it’s a rather more involved cleanup and requires a large bucket, layers of plastic bags, a hand pump, and a large bottle of soap. While cleaning I notice the overflow tube from the tank has a valve on it so I turn the valve off fearing the overfull tank will continue sloshing around spilling more diesel and I don’t want to clean up twice. Pay attention, this detail is important and may foreshadow disaster later in the day.

I whip up eggs for breakfast and scramble them with fresh basil and cilantro which is tremendously satisfying, then we meet Lydia and Daryl and take a walk into the nearby town of Wilson. Mom decides to stay at the boat just in case her bowels explode as they are known to do after she drinks her morning so called “health” shake. I’ve seen her make it and I have my doubts on how healthy it is. She puts in peanut butter, hot dogs, collagen powder, grape Fanta, hashish, gummy worms, and chopped up bits of hallucinogenic toadstools, then mixes it all up with a high-speed hand blender as she sprinkles in pixie dust that some organic farmer sold to her back in Saskatoon claiming supernatural benefits. She says it keeps her young and springy but I think she just likes being permanently stoned and that’s why she’s in such a good mood all the time.

Daryl brings along his electric scooter which can double as a beer dolly, just in case we score some suds at the town grocery store. We have a pleasant walk into town, then visit a small bakery for cookies and cupcakes before making our way over to the grocery store. Well, the place really delivers as I find not only a case of Founders All Day IPA beer, but also a giant jar of recently expired crunchy peanut butter for 99 cents, which will provide me with a year’s worth of morning toast. Daryl gets a case of Yuengling beer hoping it’s a magic case like the one I have. Allow me to explain. Yesterday during happy hour I had pulled out two tins of Yuengling beer for Daryl and I and Lydia said, “Kris, you always seem to have a can of Yuengling in your hand during the summer months and usually during the winter months too. But you can’t buy that beer in Canada, right?”

“That’s right,” I said as I cracked open my can, enjoyed the snappy hiss then had a sip.

“And you can only bring back a case or two when you visit the States, right?

“That is correct,” I said as I pulled another deep drink from the can.

“And you guys hardly ever go the States anymore, right?”

“You got it. They’re getting too damn wacky down there,” I replied as I tipped back the rest of the beer.

“So how the hell do you always have Yuengling on hand??”

“Well, near as I can tell, it’s a magic case. Every time I go into my cold room, there’s a case of Yuengling there. I’ll bring it down to the boat, then the next time I go in the cold room, the exact same case is still there. Same sort of thing happens with the Yeti cooler. I put a few cans in, drink them, then every time I open the there’s always more there and I never have to reload it. See, magic case.”

“Hmmm,” Daryl said rubbing his chin, seeing some potential.

We loiter around Wilson for a bit longer then hit the gas station/sub shop/pizza place where Daryl and Lydia put in a sub order, then the girls take off to visit the knick knack gift shop back at the marina while Daryl and I wait for the food. The cases of Yuengling and Founders are perfectly balanced on the beer scooter and Daryl tests the integrity of the structure by jumping on top of the beer and taking the scooter for a ride as I solidify my grip on the peanut butter jar and two sandwiches.

Halfway back to the boat the threatening grey sky makes good on its promise and starts spilling rain, lightly at first, then soon a downpour. We take shelter under a tree and Daryl cracks open what he hopes is his own magic case of Yuengling. I am hopeful for him too so we have a cheers and start drinking then suddenly the two cases of beer fall off the scooter and into a gathering puddle and there are cans of Yuengling rolling all over the road of Wilson, one of which gets punctured and is spraying beer foam all over us. Daryl quickly rescues the wounded soldier and shotguns it while I hold both our original beers and balance the scooter, then he gathers up the cans and shoves them back into the box then wedges my now soggy and muddy Founders box in front of it to block the beers in. I am having my doubts that this is a magic case, but I guess time will tell.

Back at the boats we make the snap decision to pack up and head for Rochester. The original plan was to do an overnight sail but the forecast doesn’t look great and if we stay here Ana will probably just get into the booze again. Within minutes we are cast off and headed back out the channel to the lake and the ladies put out a lunch spread. Inspired by the garbage plate party I choose to make a garbage dog - three half hot dogs on a hamburger bun topped with chili and streams of ketchup and mustard. As expected, it's delicious.

The lake conditions are good but as usual the wind is directly in our face so we stay in power boat mode, set the autopilot to 80 degrees north-east and let her run. The afternoon forecast isn’t great either with some thunderstorms possible later, but in general the reliability of forecasts this season has been terrible so we instead place our faith in our infallible sailor instincts.

Five hours later a black line of vicious storms are bearing down on us and a small craft advisory is issued citing potential 45 knot gusts and torrential rainfall. We clear everything out of the cockpit and the ladies take shelter in the cabin while I stay outside. As the storm hits the rain pounds the boat, leaking through several spots in the canvas and reducing visibility to less than a hundred feet. I half the throttle and keep watch at the front of the boat, but fortunately all the rest of the smarter boaters who were on the water earlier have already taken shelter on shore so we’re probably the only boat left on the lake. There are a few cracks of thunder overhead and I hear these strange popping sound coming from shore and can’t figure out what it is, but then remember last year hearing about these sonic cannons that are used in this area to stop hail from forming in the sky. Daryl did some research on this and all evidence points to these machines have absolutely no effect on hail formation, but the locals claim they haven’t had hail in 50 years so they are sticking with it.

The winds only get up to about 16 knots and the worst of it is over within 30 minutes so we mop up the water in the cockpit, reset the cushions and pillows and pick back up where we left off - steaming towards Rochester, having great conversations, and beating all the biting flies in the cockpit to death with the Portuguese corn broom.

Shortly thereafter the engine made a cough, then slowed, then stalled. Ana and I looked at each other, mouthed the eff word, then sprang into action. She pulled open the canvas and released the jib lock as I pulled out the jib to keep us moving. I went down into the engine compartment, swung it open and was relieved to see no smoke, no shredded belts, and no strange odours so that left fuel problems as the likely culprit. Now what had changed recently with the fuel system? I know, that valve I turned off earlier in the day! I crawled under the bed, opened the valve, then had Ana turn over the engine. It fired up, ran for a minute, then stalled. I had her try it again. It started, ran a bit rough, then was soon humming and vibrating so she popped it into gear and we were back underway. Crisis averted. Now I just need to figure out how the hell that valve works.

We pull into the massive Rochester channel shortly before 10pm and it is very dark and very exciting as we pass by all the lighted structures along the way – the massive port buildings to the right, and to the left a local dive bar with a live band, some commercial buildings and finally the Rochester Yacht Club. We swing the boat into the entrance and execute a perfect docking on the channel wall and Stella and Ana have us tied up and plugged in before I even know what’s happening.

We meet our boat neighbour Doreen who is on a 32’ Beneteau with her husband Rob and their two teenage daughters. They are from Toronto and we have a nice chat and share info on our trips so far. They are headed east up the lake tomorrow so I expect we may run into them again along the way somewhere.

Cockpit drinks are poured and we relax knowing that we are safe and secure for the night and have an undoubtedly interesting couple of days ahead exploring Rochester.

2023 Sailing Trip - July 14th - A Fine First Day

I awake with a slight headache and the taste of raw onion in my mouth. Last night’s cockpit drinks and garbage plates took a toll. But I care not – this is the first day of boat vacation! I crawl out of bed, put on yesterday’s clothes, boil some water in the kettle and make a barley drink (pseudo-coffee, all the bitterness with none of the caffeine), then step off the boat and onto the dock where I begin walking. I pass the club parkette and picture the scene last night where our friends Daryl and Lydia hosted a Garbage Plate Party to kick off this year’s shared adventure on Lake Ontario. 14 people sat anxiously awaiting the garbage plates which our hosts were carefully constructing. We discovered this regional cuisine in Rochester, New York last year during our sailing trip and were instantly hooked. The recipe is simple and infinitely adjustable. Start with a base of French fries, throw some macaroni salad on that, add in potato salad or coleslaw or whatever else you have in your fridge approaching or past the “best before” date. Seal with a heaping ladle of spicy meat sauce boiled to the consistency of dog vomit, decorate with a handful of raw onions, then criss-cross with jets of mustard, ketchup, and mayo. Voila, the Rochester garbage plate! Some of the less adventurous in the group chose to forgo the garbage plate experience and just bun a wiener (including the host Lydia, which arose great suspicion among those gathered). As I walked past the now vacant picnic tables, I smacked my lips then sucked my teeth and was rewarded with a small piece of onion my toothbrush failed to liberate in the early hours. I spit it to the ground and continue my walk up to the clubhouse for a shower.

By 9am, we are ready to depart. The crew consists of my three favourite ladies in the world – my mom Diane, my wife Ana, and my daughter Stella. We throw off the lines, motor out of the marina, and say goodbye to Newport Yacht club as we point the bow of the boat towards Wilson, New York. I am not surprised to see that the favourable west winds forecasted all week for today have become east and are blowing directly in our face. This is normal for sailing, especially when you are trying to go long distances. So we leave the sails furled and remain in powerboat mode as I push the throttle up to 1900 RPM giving us a cruising speed of nearly 7 knots. We leave behind the clouds gathered around the shoreline of Lake Ontario and find a cloudless sky over the open water.

Once we are settled in and the autopilot is engaged, I give my mom a full briefing on the boat. She has been day sailing with us before but never on a longer trip so has been very excited for this day since booking her flights from Saskatoon two months before. I am so glad she’s here with us – there’s nothing better than getting some lake salt into the veins of prairie folk. I explain all the safety procedures on the boat and stress that the disasters that will befall this on our trip are likely to be completely different than the ones she may have read on blogs from previous trips, including the near electrocution in Wilson and the grounding at Oak Orchard last year. We like to keep it fresh. Making the same fuck-ups year after year is so tiresome so we try to fail in new and different ways.

After several hours on the water the wind completely dies leaving a glassy lake surface so we stop the boat and jump in for a swim in the 25 degree water. Glorious. Stella alternates leaps into the water with shampoo, conditioner, and soap applications as the rest of us float around on pool noodles. It can be unnerving floating around in the middle of a giant lake with no other boats for miles around, but Mom seems pretty chilled out.

As we hit the sixth hour of our journey we reach the harbour entrance to Wilson and Ana calls into US immigration through their amazing ROAM app and gets us checked in within minutes with no issues. We ease into Wilson harbour and take a little trip to the end of it where we fill up with diesel then return back to the Tuscarora Yacht Club where the dockmaster Tim helps us dock then hands me the pump out hose and I extract the foul liquid from our holding tank, only splashing a little bit on the jib line, my feet, the side window, and a little splash may have hit Ana’s dress but she didn’t notice and I didn’t tell. Tim is a young fellow and explains that this is his first job and he knows nothing about boats or boaters. I like his brutal honesty, and I can tell Ana does too as she pulls him aside and shows him how to cleat off a line.

Another boat pulls up and Tim points them down the dock to an open slip as he’s got his hands full with a different boat coming in to dock, so I run down and guide them into the slip. The second boat follows up shortly after that and Ana and I both run back down to help dock them. By this time Daryl and Lydia have arrived in their power boat so we help dock and fuel them, then yet another boat comes in and we get him docked too.

“We’re good at this,” Ana says as she whirls a dock line over her head then perfectly lassos a cleat 20 feet away. “Maybe we should become dock hands in our retirement.”

“I’d prefer to dock boats on a volunteer basis, you know, to keep expectations low.”

After taking their incredibly cute but decrepit 17-year-old wiener dog Chili for a walk where he doesn’t really walk but instead just stands there trembling until some urine leaks out of him, Daryl and Lydia join us in the cockpit of SeaLight for drinks and snacks. This turns into a dinner as we realize it’s already 7pm so the girls heat up the delicious chili Mom made the day before and we devour it.

A band starts up at the Boat House restaurant just a couple hundred metres away and they have a killer setlist – all 90’s rock and grunge stuff. Last year we enjoyed some high calibre pina coladas at the 5 Coconuts bar just beside the restaurant so we head on over for happy hour. Problem is, we didn’t bother launching our dinghies, which would  make for a 2 minute ride, so instead we have to walk around via a bridge, long forest trail to a side road, long side road to the main road, then long main road that eventually winds back into the harbour, but not before passing this market of antiquities with such treasures as broken 30 year old fishing rods, tackle boxes full of rusted hooks and spilled fish scent, pots without lids, lids without pots, rotary phones that barely rotate, bent and rusted kitchen utensils that offer little utility, and open air tables chock a block with rained on knick knacks and boring curios. I’m going to let Rob Zombie know about this place as it would be a great site for a kill scene in one of his low grade horror movies.

The pina coladas are excellent but judged to be less excellent than the ones last year, probably because the star bartender John moved onto permanent employment, but I don’t know why because I can’t imagine any job more fulfilling than making cocktails for drunken boaters. We test out a second round, but this time go for strawberry daiquiris and classic margaritas and the quality is judged to be that of “standard issue”. But it’s all good and the music the band belts out is excellent – I pick up some Mr. Brightside, some Living on a Prayer, Don’t Stop Believing, Man in the Box, and even some Vaseline. As we are enjoying the drinks Stella says, “Everybody here looks very American, but I’m not sure exactly what it is.” She’s right, and it’s kind of hard to pin down what is it (other than the leg tattoos of eagles and American flags and the holstered sidearms), but despite being so close to home, things always look and feel different on this side of the border.

Lydia noticed some friends of ours from Newport on a nearby dock so we leave the bar and wander over then Daryl sends her down the dock to investigate. If you are ever looking to establish any sort of social connection, Lydia’s your girl. She is a people magnet. As expected, a chorus of cheers erupts and we are waved down the dock to find a whole bunch of Newporters – Ray and Heather, Daryl and Natasha, and two other couples we hadn’t previously met who are equally cool. The welcome they give us is irrationally exuberant – full body hugs, boozy kisses, and glasses of white wine shoved into our hands as we share news at a breakneck pace. It’s as if we’ve all met up by chance in a remote airfield in Kamchatka or bumped into each other dragging weasels on a trapline in northern Manitoba or recognized each other underwater scuba diving in Borneo. But in fact, Wilson NY is probably the number one destination for Newporters, but it still feels like a remarkable coincidence and we love it. I fire up the Cuban cigar I brought and have a nice long dock chat with the boys as the party erupts around us. What a crowd!

Ana is now four to five drinks in which is as much as she typically consumes in a heavy month and she’s getting bouncy and ready for a walk so she gathers my mom, Stella, and me and we bid the party goodbye and start the long trot back to our boat. Ray offered us his Sea Doo to ride over but we think it would probably be tough to fit six of us on there then even tougher to explain tomorrow how it wound up inverted and impaled on a rock.

The walk is lovely but it feels like we’re chasing Stella the whole way. She is an extremely fast walker and only has one speed – race pace. We make it back to the marina, stop at the yacht clubhouse for a free pee then check out the main gallery where we find two of the dudes we helped dock earlier in the day and another couple who are sitting helpless at a table with two smartphones on the table. We learn their attempts to check-in with the US border app have been fruitless and they are out of ideas and just sitting there as illegal immigrants. Ana the fixer is immediately on the situation - setting up their accounts, adjusting profiles, getting two factor SMS messages working, updating boat information and within minutes they are all set and just awaiting video call from an agent. They thank her profusely. The fixer does it again.

We are back in SeaLight’s cockpit for a nightcap, and I inexplicably make mine a water while Mom has a half glass of wine and Ana immediately falls asleep with her face buried in a pillow. After a nice chat with Mom and I decide it is time to put the wraps on an exceedingly fine day so I wake up Ana and we disappear into our cabin.