Solution to a Difficult Problem and Shopping in Coxsackie

Castleton to Coxsackie – 11 nautical miles, a walk around town

The only job we didn’t get to yesterday was putting up the headsail, which we did together then went for a little dinghy ride along the shoreline and found a huge bald eagle nest up in the trees. Steve had told us a story about one of the resident eagles who was seen scrapping with a seagull over a fish. Later that day somebody found the seagull on the dock, and all that remained of it was two perfectly placed wings minus the body, clearly left as a message to the rest of the seagull population. The message? Don’t fight with eagles.

 

We fired up the boat, rolled out the headsail, and began our way southwards on the Hudson. It was a real joy to see that sail up again. We kept the motor running at low RPM and enjoyed the ride, at least until I went below and found the bilges rapidly filling up with water. Remember that thing about sailing being hours of monotonous boredom, interrupted periodically by moments of chaos, panic, and terror? This was one of those moments. But first, the back story.

 

Last summer we struck an underwater rock while cruising in the Thousand Islands which did some damage to the keel bolts and caused water to start leaking into the boat. At the end of the season we pulled the boat out at Niagara-on-the-Lake to have Peter Jones patch things up, as he’s the best in the business. Spring arrives, the boat gets launched, and everything looks great, but soon a bit of water starts appearing in the bilge and we have no idea where it’s coming from. Over the summer I kept sponging up the water and investigating the cause. Was it lake water coming in somewhere? Was it a leak in our fresh water pressure system? Was it rain water getting in? It was very hard to tell and we pulled the boat apart trying to find the source to no avail. And by the time we began this trip, I was pulling out a salad bowl or two of water every day.

During the first leg across Lake Ontario, I discovered the water was coming in at a much faster rate, but we still couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Today, as the bilge was rapidly filling, I got the bilge pump working then also started frantically pumping the water with a manual pump. Once I got the water level down I realized the water was coming from the back of the boat so I opened up the engine compartment and found water pouring out of a hose which came from the engine’s anti-siphon valve. Now, I had looked at this many times before as I knew this was a potential source of water, but never saw any water coming out of it when the engine was running. Now, I finally had my culprit. I am sure the valve had been getting progressively more jammed up and had finally seized in an open position, so after the terror subsided I was feeling damn happy because I knew how to fix this. On a side note, as I was digging around the engine I also discovered the negative terminal attached to the alternator had nearly burned off due to a poor connection, which explained the strange smell I had been picking up recently.

 

After arriving at Coxsackie and letting the engine cool while I mopped up the remaining water I removed the anti-siphon valve, cleaned it up, and redid the alternator connection, killing two birds with two stones. Then we went for a walk to explore the town

 

Coxsackie isn’t pronounced the way your dirty mind would expect. It’s Cook-Sockie, likely because a mayor in the past gathered the council members together and said, “Folks, something has to change. Visitors are laughing at our name and vandals are drawing penis figures all over the municipal buildings and public spaces. I have an idea….”

 

The free public docks were lovely and even had a sign with a town map proudly showing all the wonderful things there – an oyster bar, theatre, brewhouse, restaurants, creamery, antique stores, bottle shop, general store, vintage clothing. The only problem is that most of them were closed, but we did go into the General Store and buy a few things. They had some neat stuff, but prices were outrageous and I didn’t feel like paying four dollars for an onion, but I didn’t mind parting with $2.79 for a package of cinnamon flavoured toothpicks, then a bit more for two pots of fancy yogurt and two local IPAs.

 

Our town tour concluded with a visit to the library, which smelled like farts and had a substandard magazine inventory, limited strictly to home and garden topics – no guitar magazines, no Economist, no Cigar Afficionado. I did find a Dolly Parton cookbook that looked pretty good but I wasn’t ready to commit to a Coxsackie library membership and my shoplifting days are way behind me.

Mast Raising and Seals on the Hudson

Castleton Boat Club – 0 nautical miles, a walk around town

What you don’t want to do on SeaLight is to overfill the diesel tank, which is exactly what I did yesterday. This causes pressure in the primary fuel filter which causes it to leak diesel into the engine compartment, which drains under the floor and into one of the bilges, creating a huge mess. I did an initial cleaning yesterday after I started smelling diesel in the cabin, but last night as we sat with our friends in the cockpit I could still smell it wafting around so I spent an hour and a half in the morning flushing it out.

 

Once that job was finished I went outside to check the weather – beautiful and calm, perfect for raising a mast. I also scanned the river to see if I could spot another seal. Yesterday during dinner Jeff saw a seal surface, roll around, then go back down. He couldn’t believe it, so was thinking maybe he had seen something else, but later that evening as we were in the cockpit I happened to look out to the water and I saw a seal head rise up, have a look around, then slowly sink back down. We were definitely not in the lakes anymore.

We were first up for mast raising and I must say it went splendidly. The same crew all helped out and we had it up and secured within about 45 minutes. We did Ben and Kate’s mast next, which took a bit longer, but it went very well too. It was sure nice of Jeff to let us practice on his boat yesterday. We were all relieved seeing those masts up, transforming back into sailboats again.

 

After a walk up and down the small main street of Castleton and finding absolutely nothing open, we got back to work on the boat – adjusting turnbuckles, cinching cotter pins, installing the boom, tying the lazyjacks onto the sail pack, raising the main sail, running the lines back to the cockpit, making all the electrical connections at the mast, coiling and storing all the lines we used for securing the mast on deck, then finally cleaning and putting away tools. It took hours to do all this, and shortly before dusk we motored out to one of the mooring balls across the river, for which they only charged thirty bucks a night. Ana whipped up a delicious meal then I zipped back into the club in the dinghy and brought out Jeff and Jenna (who brought out a box of cookies and a bottle of wine…not to mention the slick winch handles Jeff gave to both us and Ben and Kate earlier in the day) for cocktail hour, and Ben and Kate rowed over in their dinghy to join us. We had a rambunctious toast to celebrate the raising of the masts then eased back for another evening of laughter and stories.

Welcome to Castleton Boat Club

Waterford to Castleton Boat Club – 1 locks, 17 nautical miles

We tossed off the docklines at 8:30, bid farewell to Waterford and the Erie Canal and dipped the bow of SeaLight into the mighty Hudson River. The northbound Hudson leads to the Champlain Canal which in turn leads into the St. Lawrence river and the land known as Quebec. More on that later.

 

We coasted SeaLight into Lock 1, the final (or first, depending on which way you are going) lock of the journey, and the easy canal I was expecting turned out to be not so easy as they didn’t have any damn wall ropes to hang onto so we ended up floating aimlessly, bouncing from side to side, running from bow to stern holding the boat off the rugged concrete walls with our boat hooks, as the water level slowly dropped. The doors finally opened and we motored the hell out of there as I got an earful from the crew.

 

This was to be Mike’s final day as he had booked an evening flight from Albany back to his home in Chicago so he could see through the raising of the mast. It had been so great having him on the trip and all these hours on the boat provided time for us to really catch up. As we cruised down the Hudson, passing many towns, cities, factories, and working vessels, we talked and chatted about so many things. Mike, Ana, and I have been friends for over twenty years now and he has always been so good about keeping in touch. We talk on the phone every few months and meet up in person when we can. I wonder where we’ll met up next?

 

We reached the Castleton Boat Club and there were a couple of people at the fuel dock who caught our lines and helped us in. After docking we stood for a very long time talking to them. One was an outspoken American dude who claimed to be a chiropractor, scientist, boat builder, and competitive athlete, but as we’d find out later, also a trained partier who left a cloud of alcohol vapour trailing behind him. The other guy, Jeff, was also American, from Plymouth, and had, incredibly, single-handed his 36 foot sailboat all the way from Michigan, including the full length of the Erie Canal, which we struggled with having three crew. He had been helping the chiropractor scientist and his friend step their mast and was next in line to do his boat, but the day was becoming increasingly windy.

 

Castleton Boat Club is the only place that rents out their crane for boats to put up their own masts, and they charge only $100 compared to the full service marinas that will cost you five times that. You could say two types of transients stop there – those extremely capable and those extremely cheap. I knew which category we were in.

 

I got us checked in and paid up at the clubhouse and on the way back to the boat I met a local member who introduced himself as Steve and welcomed me then asked who had checked us in.

 

“Uh, it was uh, didn’t catch their name…” I stammered.

 

“Was it a chubby old cigar chomper or a lady?” he asked.

 

“Oh, it was the chubby old cigar chomper, for sure.”

 

“Ok, good. Well we’re all volunteer run here, 50 hours each we need to do every season, but most of us do way more than that. No paid staff, we do everything ourselves. Enjoy your time here, feel free to use the washrooms, water, electrical, and if there’s anything you need just ask.”

 

I liked this place. They bill themselves as the “Friendliest marina on the Hudson” and I believe it.

 

Ben and Kate arrived a couple of hours after us, but there was no space on the dock near the crane and Steve at the fuel dock was yelling at them to dock there, but because of the wind noise they though he was asking them if they needed fuel so they said, “No thanks!” So they continued past the docks and I jogged along them to see if I could help. There were plenty of slips available on the inside row, and once I got to the end I heard Ana yelling at me and pointing to an empty slip down the dock. I thought maybe Steve had told her to put them in there so I started frantically waving them into the channel. They turned the boat in but didn’t get too far before it came to a sticky halt. Grounded. I ran back to the boat and launched our dinghy then tried to pull them out but no luck, it was stuck in hard. As it was low tide they decided to just toss out the anchor, leave the boat, then come back when the tide was coming in. Ben went to the front of the boat and started lowering the anchor. The handle was still sticking out the water as it hit bottom – two feet deep. That drew a chorus of laughter from the bystanders. As they were checking in, Steve awarded them with the Fickle Finger Of Fate trophy for their spectacular grounding.

By early afternoon it seemed clear that our mast (and maybe nobody's) would be going up today because of the wind, so Mike decided to take a late afternoon flight instead of the later one he was scheduled for. We said our goodbyes and I watched him speed off towards Albany in a Uber. I was going to miss him.

 

Despite the wind, a few hours later Jeff decided to give it a go so he got his boat into position and we all took up stations to help him raise the mast. This was the first time any of us had done this. Of course we’d all seen it done many times, and helped many times, but doing it completely on your own is not quite the same thing.

 

As the mast was being hoisted up by a rope around the centre point it looked like the whole thing was going to bend in half. But it didn’t, and we eventually got it up and into place. Jeff’s boat was a keel stepped mast which meant the mast had to go into a hole in the deck, through the boat, then sit into a fitting at the bottom. This means it has to go in very straight so that it doesn’t pry the cabin deck apart. Between the huge gusts of wind, waves, and occasional wake thrown by passing boats, this was a bitch of a job, and there were some tense moments….but we finally got it. Whew.

We invited Jeff over for dinner as his fiancée Jenna who had been traveling with him for some parts of the trip, wasn’t here at the moment and he looked like he could use some nutrition after that nerve wracking experience. Jeff is a very funny guy and as we traded stories he told us of a program he is building to enable army veterans to learn how to sail, which is why he was transporting this current boat. Turns out, he also had an interesting experience in Amsterdam. He had called a local taxi company for a ride into town. When the eighty-year-old driver arrived and found Jeff waiting in a different spot across the park, he flew into a rage and drove his car at Jeff and knocked him over. Jeff called the cops and they picked the guy up but said they couldn’t do much unless Jeff wanted to stick around for a couple weeks so he could go to court. Maybe they wanted to wait until he ran a few more people over so they could do a class action prosecution.

 

Kate and Ben joined us for post dinner dessert and humour and there were more than a few gut laughs. I love this crew!

A Day Off in Waterford

Waterford – 0 locks, 0 nautical miles, 7 kilometres walking

We decided to give ourselves a day off after our triumphant completion of the Erie Canal. There was just a single lock remaining, but this would be an easy one in the Hudson River that we’d tackle tomorrow on our way to Castleton Boat Club to step our mast.

I popped my head out into the cockpit around 6:30 and there were already vendors setting up their stalls for the weekly farmers’ market so I went out for a walk to have a look around. The Waterford visitor centre was open and I stopped in to pay for the dockage, which was actually free but they charge ten bucks for using electricity. I was hoping they might have some Erie Canal cruising guides for sale I could get for the return trip, as we had been kicking ourselves for being cheap and not buying the Skipper Bob Erie Canal Guide at the Nautical Mind bookstore back in Toronto this summer, but unfortunately all they had for sale was Waterford t-shirts and sweatpants. One aspect of the canal that has surprised me is the limited number of towns that had developed waterfronts on the canal. Most hadn’t seemed to have changed much from the times of heavy industry where the canal was treated like a dumping ground or sewer and they kept it hidden away in their backyards.

We met with Kate and Ben around 9:30 and walked over to the local restaurant for a Sunday brunch fryup. It was a classic American diner – shoddy tables and benches, 70-year-old framed photos of old newspaper headlines, brat pack memorabilia, family photos of the owners, low prices, basic menu, and staff who had had undoubtedly worked there for decades. The place was packed, but they found room for us and the big bags of laundry we were carrying around and we enjoyed a great conversation and some decent enough food.

The next stop was a small commercial centre about a mile and a half away where we picked up some boat stuff at a hardware store, did laundry, had coffee and free wifi at McDonalds, bought some goodies at a liquor store, and nearly bought a half gallon of fancy ice cream we were all going to share, but couldn’t find five plastic spoons anywhere.

We returned to the boats, had lunch, then Ana and I decided we just couldn’t stand the disgusting state of the deck of our boat anymore so we got to work cleaning. Having the mast down and going through slimy locks makes a real mess so it took a while for us to clean all the mud and dirt and lock gunk off the parts of the deck we could access. I also scrubbed the hull from the paddleboard as it had been splattered with substances of all textures and colours. By the end it was starting to look pretty good, but honestly we couldn’t wait to get that mast back up tomorrow so we could properly clean it and convert SeaLight back into a sailboat.

I took the paddleboard for a ride while Mike and Ana chatted in the cockpit. I paddled against a surprisingly strong wind past all the boats and dock into the Hudson, which is a huge river. This river would take us all the way to New York City then into the ocean so it gave me a little thrill standing on my board looking southwards, wondering what adventures awaited us.

We assembled with our buddies for cockpit cocktails and toasted our successful completion of the Erie Canal.

The Senior Sailor’s Plan and Midnight Relationship Coaching

Amsterdam to Waterford – 9 locks and 32 nautical miles

Today was going to be our last on the Erie Canal but we had a lot of locks to get through so by 8:15 we were already in Lock 12 dropping down, along with our new buddy boat Waddington, piloted by Ben and Kate.

The canal opened up today and became much wider and there was much more boat traffic than we had seen thus far – mostly fishing boats and pontoon boats, but also a lot more housing along the canal. We passed through the larger town of Schenectady (Skin – ek – tah – dee) then twisted and turned through the winding canal, dropped down locks, including Lock 7 where they crammed in four other boats in addition to ours, including a 70 footer, then by about 2pm we reached the final stretch of the Erie Canal – a massive guard gate, which held a frightening steel guillotine, large enough to slice a yacht in half, then a series of five locks in quick progression, each dropping down 35 feet. The first one went terribly as there were currents in the lock preventing me from getting the boat close enough to the side for Ana and Mike to grab the ropes. Total panic ensued and visions of the starboard side of SeaLight getting scraped to pieces seemed imminent. I finally managed to motor the boat into position after completely stressing the transmission and we got her secured. The lockmaster Leroy calmly moseyed over and informed us that we had not completely lost our skills, but that the valves were misaligned causing the fast current. Fortunately, the rest of the locks went well and by about 4:30 we finally exited the final one and found free dockage just outside the lock in the village of Waterford.

After getting tied up and plugged in we walked over to Ben and Kate’s boat and joined them sitting on the edge of the concrete dock wall for a sundowner. It was a beautiful moment – the view over the canal, the warmth of the sun, the sound of water, the cranes and egrets in the shallows dipping for minnows. I think it was at that moment I finally internalized our new reality: reaching the Caribbean on this boat is possible, we have nothing but time on our hands, there is no schedule to maintain, and we are sure to meet new friends and get the help we need along the way. It’s a good reality.

Mike’s been coaching us on what it means to be 67. When it was time to head into town for dinner, he used this interesting technique to get up, I’d call it the Roll, Crawl, and Hoist maneuver. He flopped down onto his back, rolled to his front, dragged himself by his elbows further onto the dock, then grasped for anything solid to hang onto, in this case it was a swim ladder, but I could visualize other objects too – a Burmese Mountain dog, vine hanging off a tree, a thick-limbed child, a passing bicyclist, a cute girl’s dress or pant leg. His whole body creaked and moaned as the heaved himself up to his knees then finally staggered to his feet, out of breath, beads of sweat dripping from his silver fox hair.

“You can see the old body doesn’t bend the way it used to,” he stated after finding his footing. “Kris and Ana have been making certain, uh, accommodations for me along the way.”

“Yes, we’ve implemented a Senior Citizens Crew Program on the boat,” I explained to Kate and Ben. “We bought those little cups for dispensing morning meds, made afternoon nap time mandatory, ordered all crew to wear name tags, hand out Sudoku puzzles each morning for memory strengthening, added porridge to the breakfast options, and I’ve ordered a mini crane for hauling the old fellers out of the locks when they lose their balance and flip over the lifelines into the churning water. We also give them a few menial jobs to do so they feel useful – like folding laundry (which Ana refolds), dusting, peeling potatoes, doing lookout, and fluffing pillows before bed. The key element of the program though is we let them pay for everything along the way. Mike’s been piloting the program and really enjoys it.”

We walked the short distance into Waterford downtown and found an Irish pub for dinner, The downtown area was cute and seemed lively enough for a Saturday night. We had a great conversation, talking about the trip so far, and put together a list of what we need to improve for the return trip through the canal next year (listed out below for the benefit of Future Kris, circa May 2025). After our meal we walked back to the boat and Ben and Kate met us there for a nightcap, which turned into several, transforming Ben into a life coach and he gave Ana and I a full analysis of our relationship, at least what he could infer from some of the yelling and screaming he heard coming from our boat in the locks. His relationship rebuilding plan for us was simple, yet to me seemed insightfully constructed. It seemed I would be in for more frequent back scratches from my wife and in return, I would more regularly tell her how amazing she is.

For the cost of mere few ounces of rum, Ana and I made out like bandits and I hoped for more future sessions.

Instructions for better locking: 

-       Store boom on starboard side of boat

-       Remove the flag line as it gets in the way

-       Ensure all crew are wearing life preservers

-       Get rubberized gloves that don’t soak up the line slime

-       Enter the lock slowly and as parallel to the wall as possible

-       Have three boat hooks available, one for each crew, plus a spare if one breaks

-       Turn portside solar panel in

-       Grab first rope at midpoint of boat

-       Set fenders at regular length for down locks, but higher for up locks

-       Put foam protection at edge of spreaders and sides of arch solar panels

-       Put the big fender in the middle

-       Person in the middle to hold rope while going down; other two crew use boat hooks; while going up have two people hold ropes and one to push off

Ben, Kate, Jim, Nice Lady, Angry Man, and Lock Flunkies

Little Falls to Amsterdam – 7 locks and 35 nautical miles

Today, Mike came to fully understand the essence of sailing – hours of unrepenting and relentless boredom broken up by brief moments of terror, chaos, panic, and confusion. There was nothing particularly boring or awful that happened today, but he had noticed this pattern developing and told us of his discovery. So exciting seeing a sailing puppy transitioning into a salty dog.

 

This morning’s fog was the thickest we’ve seen yet and I had to cruise at low speed to provide time to dodge the floating debris and submerged trees. We cruised to St Johnsville and stopped at their tidy little marina to fill up with diesel, water, and get a pump out. The lady working there was lovely and practically begged us to stay for a while, visit the local breakfast and coffee joint and explore the town. If it were three in the afternoon, we surely would have, but it was morning and we wanted to make some miles and locks today.

 

At lock 15 we started to wonder if there was a social scale or some sort of penalty system used in the New York State Canal System’s assignment of lift operators. First of all, this lock had a measly 8 foot drop, which was far lower than the rest we’d encountered so far, which had ranged from about 15 feet to 47 feet. The lock seemed shorter and narrower too. So it would make sense that the lift operator assigned to this less monstrous apparatus would be either a rookie or a flunkie.

I think this particular lift operator may have been a flunkie. We sat for a long time outside the lock waiting for him to open the door. He seemed to be playing on his phone and had forgotten there was a boat there. When he finally opened it we floated in and got the boat prepped while he slowly shuffled from one end of the lock to the other. He seemed disillusioned and disinterested, far different from the chipper, competent, and ultra friendly lock masters we’d encountered so far. The water dropped and dropped and finally settled, then we sat and waited for the doors to open. Our man was really focused on his phone now, and I have a feeling he was deep in the middle of a game of LockMaster Pro, an app designed to retrain lock flunkies. Anyway, I hope he does well and gets promoted up to a 15 foot lock someday.

 

Lock 14 confirmed our suspicions. This one too had an eight foot drop, and the reason we know is that there is a huge sign at each lock stating the elevation drop plus the distance to the next locks both eastbound and westbound. Mike tested her.

 

“Excuse me, what’s the elevation drop in this lock?” he asked her as he looked over at me and winked.

 

“Oh. I’m really not sure.”

 

Flunkie. But at least she was fast on the controls and got us in and out quickly, so she may be close to a promotion.

 

We arrived at our destination for the day – Amsterdam, New York, and got tied up to their wall and found three full dock pedestals complete with 15 amp, 30 amp, and 50 amp power…all free. We locked up the boat and went for a walk to explore the town. Within ten minutes we had already met three people. Jim, the friendly self-proclaimed mayor of Amsterdam who was hanging out in the park in his truck with a bunch of his buddies in their trucks, drinking coffee, water, and White Claws. Jim literally ran out when he saw us, blocked our path, and starting talking, asking questions, getting the scoop. He was a very nice feller. After giving us directions to the best local restaurant, he let us leave then two minutes later we met a lady by the railroad tracks waiting to cross the very busy road. She gave us a rundown of the entire history of Amsterdam and was lovely and helpful. As we were talking to her, this guy driving down the street swerved over and came to a screeching halt in front of us, opened his window, furiously pointing at a big building behind us under construction that we had barely noticed, then started yelling.

 

“Look at that goddamn boondoggle. Millions of taxpayer dollars wasted on that goddamn thing. That’s why this country is going broke, goddamn boondoggle, this place is a fucking cesspool!” Buddy’s eyes were bugging out and the veins in his neck were blue and pulsing. He cursed a bit more then hit the gas pedal and left in a cloud of dust.

 

“Do y’all have a lot of people like that here, or is he the only one?” I asked the lady.

 

“We’ve got some strange people here.”

 

We parted ways and walked for a few blocks, but saw nothing but beaten up rental Frankenhouses, angry young men with tattoos and face piercings driving around in jacked up trucks or low rider El Caminos with their stereos blasting, weird Halloween decorations in windows in yards, and a whole bunch of TRUMP -- JD VANCE -- Save ‘Merica Great Again yard signs, or something like that. We cut the walk short and returned to the boat before we ended up buying mushrooms or meth, but not before Jim the mayor ran out and cut us off again and started telling us about the boondoggle project. He let us go, then raced back over a few seconds later to tell us about a pair of bald eagles that frequented the area. He even showed us some great pictures he took of them.

Shortly after that a sailboat pulled in - it was Ben and Kate who we had met briefly two days before. We had them over for drinks and had a joyous time – really, really liked them, and we exchanged plenty of stories. Turns out they had just gotten married last Friday at Kingston City Hall so today was their Weekiversary. We had a nice toast to that.

Little Falls and our First Afternoon Off

Utica to Little Falls – 4 locks and 23 nautical miles

The morning began eerie and beautiful. A thick fog had descended, blanketing the lock and the three other sailboats tied up near us in a haze of grey marshmallow. I went for a walk to see if I could find a place to dispose of the garbage we had accumulated on the boat. The lock was not secured so I was able walk over the gates to the other side, as and I did I admired the prehistoric metal workings of the doors with its massive chains and gears, all freshly painted, clean, and meticulously maintained. Alongside the canal was a large grassy area then a paved path, and on the grassy area was a lady packing up her tent and loading gear onto her bicycle – a long distance rider, no doubt. I am guessing the path runs alongside the entire Erie Canal, and what a fine bike ride that would be.

 

We met the other sailboaters as we preparing for the lock opening at 8am. Two were from Illinois (not far from where Mike lives) and the other was from Sault Ste. Marie. They added us to their texting group as they were traveling as a pack and helping each other along the way. We let them go ahead as we weren’t comfortable with jamming three boats into the lock. But what we were comfortable with, somehow, was moving the fenders from the starboard side of the boat protecting us from the jagged concrete wall we were tied to, to the port side preparing for the lock, loosening the mooring lines, then taking a walk over to see the lock filling up. As we looked back the current from the water had pushed the stern of the boat out into the water and the front was rubbing against the concrete wall. We ran back, pushed off the boat, and found a series of new scratches on the recently restored and beautiful hull. Goddamn amateur hour. That’s the thing with boating – it only takes one careless move to cause damage.

The first lock of the day was a joy, as we had now reached the apex of the Erie Canal and all remaining locks were downhill, which is much easier as the motion inside the lock is like an elevator dropping down and the boat remains motionless, as opposed to going up where the incoming water creates wild currents that push the boat around.

 

Our morning ride was calm, peaceful, sunny, and far more enjoyable than yesterday’s trip through the rain. At one point in the canal we approached a dredging unit that was taking up the whole canal. I called him on VHF channel 13.

 

“Dredger on Erie Canal with sailboat approaching eastbound.”

 

“Morning captain, we’ll move the dredger so you can pass on the north side. You should be good for depth, but just stay close to the hopperscow.”

 

“Right, we will pass you on the north side and keep the hopperscow close to our starboard side, is that correct?”

 

“Yes captain.”

 

“I don’t actually know what a hopperscow is, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Sealight out.”

 

I pulled back on the throttle as we coasted into the small gap. I eyed the depth sounder watching for depth below our keel – 5…3…2…1…0.5. I stayed as close to the dredger as I could get and did indeed learn what a hopperscow is – this is the giant steel barge that the dredging arm drops the mud into. Class, today’s word of the day is Hopperscow. There will be a quiz later.

We passed through another couple of locks then caught up to two of the boats we had docked with, who were moving at an agonizing slow speed of 5.5 knots, opposed to our 7. Yes, it doesn’t seem like much, but it felt like we were crawling and there was not sufficient room to get around them so we simply knocked back our speed, dodged trees and logs in the channel, and enjoyed the beautiful scenery.

 

We reached our final lock for the day around 2pm – Lock 17 in Little Falls, New York. A sign announced this is the deepest lock in the canal and one of the largest in the world at a 45 foot elevation drop. Once we were in place the water began to drop, and kept dropping for what seemed like forever until we were at the bottom of what felt like a giant trash compactor. I thought back to Star Wars and could see the walls beginning to move, slowly coming together as the crew panicked, looking for a way out, trying in vain to scramble up the slimy ropes to no avail. The walls seized the sides of the boat and the fibreglass started to buckle and snap as we gathered at the centre, looking up, screaming for help, watching the sunlight disappear and the concrete walls closing in on us, pulverizing SeaLight and soon, us.

I shook that scene out of my head and waited patiently as the massive steel door ahead of us began to slowly rise as the enormous concrete counterweight dropped from above and after a few minutes a distant voice from above told us to proceed. We tied up at a wall just outside of the lock, sealed up the boat, then walked into town on a lovely forested path with soaring granite walls and views over the lock and canal.

 

Little Falls is a beautiful town. We walked the length of it, stopping to pick up a few things at the Dollar General, then the Price Chopper, then CVS, amassing a fine collection of bags to carry. Of course, we forgot to bring along the little foldable cart that Ana has procured for grocery duties on the trip. We walked down into Canal Place and found a craft beer joint called Rock Valley Brewery exactly where you expect it to be – in a converted warehouse, in an industrial area, beneath a bridge. The IPAs were amazing, staff were cool, customers were local, ceilings were ancient and high, and the view looking out over the valley and canal was stunning. The pizza we ordered in was damn good too.

After a couple of high powered craft beers and food none of us were looking forward to carry bags the mile and a half back to the boat, so Ana ordered up an Uber for ten bucks. But then she noticed the Uber driver was 65 kilometres away! This just seemed dumb, so she cancelled it and we walked back, again enjoying the views, but with numbing arms this time.