A Tern of Events

So there I was...coming out of the main cabin of the boat into the cockpit early one morning last week to get into the dingy and make my way to shore for a cup of coffee.  What I soon realized is there had been yet another hatching of a different bug on the previous evening so now I had hundreds and hundreds of these small white moths all over the boat.  What is it about the Thousand Islands and bugs?  Lots of bugs.  As soon as I moved across the cockpit heading for the dingy they all went air-bound flying in my face and landing all over me.  This attracted the birds, I think they were Terns, that started diving with incredible acrobatic skill to catch the moths in flight.  Problem was they were diving at me and the moths fluttering all over me coming inches from my head.  I was swinging my arms trying to get the moths off me and with head down sheilding my eyes from some tern that may have failed flight school, I stumbled with a tremendous lack of grace into the dingy.  I'm sure the locals enjoy watching these little shows.  Even there, the onslaugt didn't end while I got the motor going finally clearing the war zone and knocking the remaining hitch hikers off me.  A few days later the moths were mostly gone and the run for the dingy became unnecessary.  Until the next hatching.

Clayton, Wilburt, Picnic Point and Loons

So there I was...heading into French Bay in the town of Clayton, NY after a peaceful two hour trip.  Another boat-friendly harbor that goes above and beyond in making things convenient for travelers like myself.  Having the largest freshwater antique boat museum in the world piqued my interest and it did not disappoint as I spent hours drooling over the craftsmanship of the old wooden vessels of all kinds and of course the amazing collection of antique outboard motors.  My buddy John and I have always concluded that you can never have too many outboard engines.  Walking along the waterfront was magical where a bluegrass band played as boats from the islands and Canada came and went at the town docks.  Also near the town docks was Thousand Islands Inn which lays claim to being home of the original Thousand Islands dressing.  A nearby store front for Coyote Moon Vineyards had wine tastings.  A cheerful young lady said that I could try 3 of their wines for free or 16 of their wines for 3 dollars.  Lunch, for 3 dollars.  As I enjoyed the vineyards best efforts my host filled me in on the town and the Thousand Islands area.  The next day I go in search of Wilburt.  I have heard of this man and his ability to find boat parts that no one else can.  I have a Johnson 3HP outboard engine that I love using on the dingy.  Problem is, the gas cap has been leaking on it's built-in tank and being the engine is 60 years old, built in 1953, there are none to be found.  When I explain my dilemma to Wilburt, who eclipses my engines age by at least 25 years, he shifts his captains hat to one side and gets a twinkle in his eye.  We jump in his old Volvo and make a short drive to this huge warehouse filled with every old boat engine part you could imagine.  We climb several staircases and go through a maze of turns and doors.  In the back corner of a back room he rummages through a box and pulls out two of the exact gas cap I need, never used in it's original box.  I am amazed.  As nice as Clayton is, I'm ready for a quiet place where people aren't part of the ambience so a few days later I pull anchor and head over to a location on Grindstone Island.  This is one of 1800 islands in what is called Thousand Islands.  I anchor in a peaceful cove along Picnic Point State Park.   Some twenty years ago I heard a recording of the eerie and mesmerizing  cry of the loon, a beautiful aquatic bird, and thought to myself that someday I have to hear this sound firsthand in the wild.  As I settled into my new anchorage,  toward evening that sound came drifting over the water in the most surreal manner.  As I spotted the loon it privileged me with several more cries that brought a tear to my eye.  It was so worth the wait.

St. Lawrence Seaway

So there I was...coming into the St. Lawrence River after a 2 hour ride north from Sacket's Harbor where I had spent five days.  Sacket's Harbor was the center of American naval and military activity for the upper St. Lawrence Valley and Lake Ontario during the War of 1812.  It was also a major ship building port during this time and Lieutenant Ulysses S. Grant was stationed there in 1848, 49  and 51.   So there was a lot of history and battlefield sites to explore.  Kim joined me there for the Fourth of July weekend and we checked out the incredibly quaint village with it's abundance of flowers, eateries and old architecture.  But alas, I was raising anchor and heading into the St. Lawrence Seaway with Canada to my left and the U.S. to my right.  Anchoring behind a sea wall in the little town of Cape Vincent was my intention and it has turned out to be an excellent decision.  It is very boat friendly and as I look across the river into Canada there is a wind farm with 86 wind turbines each over 240 feet tall on Wolfe Island.  What an amazing site.  Again, it would be easy to stay but it's been three days so I'm off to the next harbor.

Ducking For Cover

So there I was...a couple miles out in Lake Ontario last Monday on the way to my next harbor that would take five hours to reach.  I knew the weather wasn't going to be great but the lake was proving to be more aggressive than had been predicted.  Waves were standing three to four feet high and unlike the long rolling ocean waves that I'm used to,  these were sharp and very close together.  I was taking a terrible pounding and items that I thought I'd secured were flying around the cabin as spray from the waves was washing over the deck and windshield to where I was having trouble seeing.  Problem is that it's my custom not to turn back once I've set my course for a destination.  This has created some wild trips over the years.  Then the duck spoke to me.  Kim had put this stuffed toy duck on the boat that resides on my desk in the main cabin.  When you plop the duck down firmly on a hard surface it starts to quack and quack and quack.  Said duck went flying across the cabin at one point and the quacking started.  In duck language, which I must know, he was saying, "Are you some kind of idiot.  What are we doing out here?  Forget that you're tearing your not so young body apart but this 35 year old boat can't take this kind of punishment any more.  Swallow your pride and turn this boat around."  I listened to the duck and it's a good thing I did because the weather continued to deteriorate.  So I made the trip today, two days later, and the seas were flat with no wind but there was fog most of the way limiting my sight to about a quarter mile.  I was about 25 miles offshore and driving from the upper helm station when the flies attacked.  Hundreds and hundreds of flies.  They were landing all over me and I had to retreat to the lower helm station in the main cabin.  It was like some horror movie as they were covering every screen and window trying to get in.  They were finding small openings and for the rest of the trip I was killing flies with the fly swatter.  Dead flies everywhere.  They don't put this stuff in the brochures at the boat shows and this time the duck never said a word.