Scramble

Today is Monday. I start with this as I do each morning when I wake and put the first few words in the log. Date, day, place, barometer, temperature, and what I see out the window. Carrie Rose is tied to the Parks Canada pier in Saint-Jean-Sur-Richelieu. This marks the end of the Chambly canal: Lock 9 and a final bridge. Old Richelieu lies just east behind a large concrete pier.

It is cold and raining today. Charlotte and I became water logged while locking through the last five locks of the Chambly canal. Speed limits of 10k/h have to be maintained because it is narrow and there are bridges that need to be opened and locks. Boats are going north and south, so the lockmasters have to juggle these variables.

If you go a little too fast, you are scolded and if you are a little too slow, you are told to hurry up. Mind you, when a young French Canadian woman with a sweet voice does the scolding, it makes it even more biting.

For us this marks the end of the locks. The Richelieu River will deliver us into Lake Champlain where we will stop and leave Carrie Rose to spend the winter in Vermont’s artic clime. The start of the Chambly Canal was as eventful as its end was not. We pulled out of Sorel early on Saturday morning and 40 nautical miles later ended up tied to the bottom of Lock #1 in the Chambly basin.

Carrie Rose cruised out of the confined river into a bay of sorts and there as usual was the lock tucked into the corner. Our friends on Mutual Fun had warned us on the radio that the tie-up wall was full and that boats were circling.

A lock takes boats in and up, and down and out, so the circumstances are in constant flux. Though in these situations, I want to hold back but I do not. I entered the fray, slowly of course, and see what happens. When I got there the circling boats seemed to vanish. There is a marina next to the lock, and I think they were frustrated and peeled off to dock for the night.

The lock gates opened and four boats came out. This usually means boats will go in and leave space on the wall, which they did. I saw an opening. An open spot on the blue line and I went for it. The problem was that the two boats on the dock were moving up into that space, so in a flurry of French we were pushed off the dock.

I made a big circle amongst ski boats, PWCs, and I kid you not, a person levitating on two streams of water coming from his shoes. In conditions like this situational awareness is the name of the game. I kept turning and before we knew it, the same flurry of French was now welcoming us to the dock.

We were lucky. The lockmaster, once through scolding me because I had not responded to her return radio call, settled us in for the night. Scramble at an end we went in search of gelato.

Summer Reading

I am a distracted reader. There are books at my bedside, at the kitchen table, and in the living room. On the boat, the same scenario plays out except substitute the pilothouse for the living room. I am not a big fiction reader. I leave that for books on tape while I commute to work. On Carrie Rose, there is the additional need to consult cruising guides and study charts to plan our itinerary.

Over the years, Charlotte and I found many a compelling book in Michigan port libraries. Here in Canada there have been a several interesting used bookstores with knowledgeable owners.

This year has been slightly odd for me in that I reread several books I read last year. Do not ask me why, I just picked them up and could not put them down, so I enjoyed them again.

The first was A Pattern of Islands by Arthur Grimble. This is the story of a British civil servant’s first posting (with his new wife) in 1913 on a remote South Pacific island. This might sound backwards but the whole book is worth reading just for the prologue: Cadet in Embryo.

The second was Donna Leon’s A Question of Belief. This is one of a series of Commissario Brunetti mysteries. I love to leisurely read her dialog. It is so Italian in its unhurried nature with its attention to minute details.

Then I started a book new to Carrie Rose, a small biography called, The Living Thoughts of Machiavelli by Count Carlo Sforza. This was published in 1942 in London and states under the heading Book Production War Economy Standard that, “This book is produced in complete conformity with the authorized economy standards”. I suggest you find a copy and have any twenty somethings you know just starting their career read it.

Next, I moved onto Patrick O’Brian/A Life by Dean King. For those who do not know, Patrick O’Brian wrote a twenty-two book series based on the British Navy. These books are historical fiction but in reality, they are supreme literature. I am not sure what to say for their author. He was an odd bird. Start with Master and Commander and when you have finished the 22nd book read this biography.

In between the above, I have been consulting the Peterson Field Guide’s Geology — Eastern North America by David C. Roberts. Half the fun of being up here in Canada is the rocks. Some are billons, some are millions of years old, and all are interesting.

Today I am on page 71 of a weird little book from 1896 simply titled Rome by M. Creighton. At present, I am in the year 67 and Cnæus Pompeius has just driven the upstart Mithradates out of Pontus, his kingdom, and is following him into Armenia. The history of Rome seems to be one war after another with assassinations thrown in for good measure. I am sure they must have had some fun along the way!

I forgot to mention the bound National Geographic Magazines: Jan. – June 1940. This is interesting for the references to WWII and scary to think what was to happen in the next few years.

So, that is my summer reading so far. I hope you are having as much fun.

Rapids

Better then 15 years ago we visited Montreal. It was only for a night and day, and I vaguely remember the inside of a large church but what I really remember is the rapids. The water in the Great Lakes has to get to the ocean and the way is out the St. Lawrence River and past Montreal. I had much less boating experience at that time, but I did have a dream of venturing out of Lake Michigan.

It was surprising how strong the current that raced before me was. How could any boat get through it? And over the years as I dreamed of cruising I would flash back on that moment.

It is Sunday morning and we are in Lachine and close to our dream of reaching Montreal. It is finally time to confront Montreal’s rapids and current. Montreal is an island sitting on the northeast back of the St. Lawrence River. Lachine, where we spent the night, is on its western end and we need to get to the Vieux (Old) Port in downtown Montreal on the east end.

Since several rapids lay between these points a canal and two large commercial locks, part of the St. Lawrence Seaway, were build to circumvent the shallow, swirling waters. So, this means traversing 26 nautical miles, beginning with Lac St. Louis, then Canal de la Rive Sud to the locks St. Catherine and St. Lamberts then pass Île Notre Dame and around the top of Île Sainte Hélène, an island covered with roller coasters.

At the tip of the previously mentioned island we turned into the teeth of the Current Sainte Marie coming off of the Rapides du Sault Normand. Though we were plowing into a head sea, there was also a following wave and this was amplified by the wakes of numerous speeding boats and ferries. It felt a bit like the Manitou Passage on a bad day.

Our destination was nearby but we were getting nowhere fast. That is when I glanced at our speed: 2.9 knots despite the fact the engine was turning 1700 RPMs. I pushed it to 2000 and we were still barely keeping pace. The chaotic waves got bigger as we passed under a large bridge. Then I remembered the advice of a fellow traveller through the locks today who said to hug the channel’s wall as the current was less there. I did and Carrie Rose picked up a half a knot.

Ahead the water looked calmer. As I read later the Pointe du Havre was constructed to protect the cities quays, one of which was our destination, Quay King Edwards, where the Vieux Port is. Our speed began to increase and I eased the throttle back. One thing was concerning though. The chart had an odd horse track shaped series of arrows with speeds attached right at the beginning of the calm region ahead of me.

I did not let my guard down as we entered the calm zone, which was good because Carrie Rose started to get pushed into the channel’s wall. I think Ulysses went through something like this in the Odyssey. More power got me into the center of the channel and that is when I heard Charlotte on the phone with the marina confirming our slip: the north side of row C in slip 199 . . . smooth as glass.

AC/DC

We live in both Edison and Westinghouse’s electronic world while on Carrie Rose. Of course, we do at home also but on the boat we are in charge, for better or worse, and not an anonymous utility. Electricity is a direct experience while on the water. We make decisions based on the availability of either Edison’s direct current (DC) and/or Westinghouse’s alternating current (AC).

A bit of background, Edison first lit up New York City with DC but DC has limitations. I am no expert but it is difficult to transport DC long distances without losing power. So, Westinghouse came along with AC and solved the engineering dilemma. Thus, we live in a world of high-tension wires.

It is Wednesday and we are at Carillon Lock. This is not only a lock but also a gargantuan dam and electrical generating plant. We are directly under nine of the twelve high-tension wires that are coming off the transformers on top of the dam’s generating station.

Earlier in the day, while locked in its enormous concrete sarcophagus, we descended along with seven other boats 65 feet in one smooth motion. It took 45 minutes. The dam, hydroelectric station, and the lock form an elongated complex across the Ottawa River. We approached it after travelling 18.5 miles through a tranquil mountain lined river. And as is usual, we rounded a bend and there was the lock’s 65-foot gate glistening in the sun. To the right was the erectors set looking top of the power plant and to the right of that the concrete piers of the dam.

The pent up power of the restrained river was, well, electric. Far to the left of the above was the tiny opening to the lock hidden behind a massive grey concrete bulwark. The wind, current, and waves were concentrated there. We began to surf with the wind and the waves behind us. I alternated from steering to the autopilot as I used the binoculars to try to get a sense of what to expect once we rounded the concrete wall.

From experience this wall should provide some protection from the current, eddies and wind driven waves, but I do not take that for granted. The first inclination when heading into what looks like a dangerous situation is to slow down, but if you do, you are lost. Power is the key and Carrie Rose has plenty of it. We came around the blind curve to see seven boats clinging onto the massive wall that was at the level of Carrie Rose’s salon deck.

It was not apparent what the boats were tied to. Then I saw two horizontal cables strung at varying heights across the wall. I pointed the bow at the wall and came in at close to 4 knots. The plan; to swing in alongside, get the stern close enough to the wall — without hitting it — for Charlotte to tie the stern on. Then I will quickly stop and use the bow thruster to keep my nose in against the wall as I tie the forward line.

A boater was standing on the top of the wall and came to help. I asked him to grab the stern line, which he did and in an instant we were secure. It was surprisingly calm and we were both stunned to have done it.

The wind was howling above but we were protected. I turned and saw the maelstrom we had passed through. Now tucked in behind the abutment we were in smooth water. That is when I felt my heart pumping hard. I took a few deep abdominal breaths and slowly the palpitations ceased. Someone came to tell me that the 65-foot lock gate was having its regular scheduled maintenance, so we had about an hour to wait.

The rest went smoothly. It is odd being tied to another boat that is tied to a floating dock inside a massive concrete and steel enclosure full of water. We slowly descended 65 feet deeper and deeper into this cavern, and the lockmaster sitting on the gate above got smaller and smaller. The gate opened straight up — a first for us — and delivered us into the Ottawa River. The shear audacity of humans to build such a structure is difficult to comprehend.

That aside, once out the bottom of the lock we tied to the wall with two other boats we had recently met to spend the rest of the day and night. The odd thing is that in such a place as this, brimming with electromagnetic energy, the lock station does not provide any electric to plug into. So, that night we relied on the direct current stored in our two deep cycle house batteries.

These batteries are kept charged in a multitude of ways. There is the charger that works when we plug into an outside source of electricity. There are the two 55-watt solar panels I installed on the pilothouse roof. There is a 4 kilowatt diesel generator and then there is the alternator mounted on the main engine like in any car.

So that day and night, while lying under the 654,000 megawatts being generated by the power of the Ottawa River dropping 65 feet, we lived in Edison’s DC world and slept soundly under its hum.

Snapshots

The 8 locks (from the bottom looking up) Carrie Rose will descend Tuesday.

That's the back (library) of the Canadian Parliament on the right and the last 8 locks on the Rideau Waterway for us.

Driving to Ottawa

At two dollars per foot, Hurst Marina was expensive, and to top it off they parked or rather I should say I parked us in a lily pad. Slip 61 was right off the fuel dock where we had just had Carrie Rose’s holding tank pumped. I checked the fuel and we still have ¾ of a tank, so no need for fuel. I powered out into the Rideau did a U-turn and headed straight into the space.

The first inclination that this spot was shallow was my bow thruster boughing down. A bow thruster has a high-pitched whining sound, which for some reason makes me feel guilty each time I use it. And once I have committed to its use in a docking situation, to hear it strain leaves a sick feeling in my solar plexus.

At first, I thought it might be weeds but no, it was mud. By this time, the lines had been thrown ashore and we sat teetering as if we were grounded. I checked the depth sounder, it read two to three feet, next I checked my forward-looking depth sounder, and it read zero. So there, we sat in the mud with a beautiful patch of blooming lily pads before us. All I could think was thanks be we hit mud and not rocks.

Hurst Marina had a few things going for it. For one it splits up the Long Reach (yes, that's what it is called on the chart) of 23 miles from Burritt’s Rapids to the next locks at Long Island. The others are fuel, water, pump out, laundry, showers, and a pool and hot tub. Pumped out, laundry done, hot tub taken as well as two showers each, we pushed on sliding off the mud and leaving the now closed blooms behind.

Just to keep some concept of time and the calendar this day is Thursday 7/10/2014. Each morning the first thing I do is confirm the day by writing it in the ships log. Once we turned our phones off it is amazing how amorphous the concept of time becomes. I also write the time we depart in the log as well as the engine hours. I never write the destination until we get there. This is a throwback to my medical training where I learned never to write anything in the notes, no matter how quickly it was going to be done, until it was actually done. A lesson I learned the hard way.

So this Thursday’s short hop to Long Island turned into a 15.8 nautical mile cruise through Long Island’s three locks, Black Rapid’s single lock, Hog Back’s three and onto the top of Hartwell’s two locks; where we spent the night. It took us from the country to the city. From cottages to skyscrapers, from osprey and kingfishers and songbirds, to 737s and Airbuses, from quaint rustic architecture, to the worst of bloated suburbia, from anglers to bicyclist and joggers.

Along the way colorful graffiti appeared at the base of bridges, around one bend the traffic lights were so close I almost stopped for the red light and to top it all off I actually had to radio a pirate ship full of screaming children in Mooney’s Bay to make sure I could pass in front of it.

Carrie Rose arrived at the wooded top of Hartwell Lock at 1:55 five hours after we started. We were greeted by Ross, who certainly gets the reward for the most bodacious lockmaster on the Rideau Waterway, and settled in for the night. Well, that is not true. I got the bikes down, filled the tires with air, oiled the rusty chains and off we biked to Little Italy. We had Greek pastry and espresso at a family run bakery where the mother was chiding one daughter, while the other daughter was unsuccessful at trying to get her smoking, kibitzing father back in the store. We bought a beautiful loaf of bread from another smoking baker and in next door deli some tuma cheese just because I had never tasted it before.

Back at the boat, dinner was spaghetti with fresh pesto sauce. A salad of local arugula with tomato and avocado, all relished with the calabrese bread and the semi-soft slightly salty tuma washed down with a not-bad-for-Ontario French Vouvry wine.

It was a quiet spot here in the trees once the half moon started to rise from around the skyscraper to our right. The end of an eventful day.

Sunday

After a night at Smiths Falls it was time to move to Merrickville. Smiths Falls is the headquarters for the Rideau Waterway and is the most complicated routing of water that we have seen yet. There are two locks — actually five if we count the three non functional preserved locks, which Smiths Falls Combined replaced — dams, basin, town and lock docks, islands, park, beach etc. See I told you it was going to be complicated.

The day before— the first lock, and bridge, we encountered was Smiths Falls Detached #31. We came only two nautical miles through the marsh from rustic lock #32 called Poonamalie. This lock was named (translation: cat hill) by a Royal Engineer that was reminded of a spot in the Tamil region of India.

Once Carrie Rose was lowered 8.5 feet into the basin at Smith Falls, we traveled a short channel and made a quick decision to tie up to the only remaining spot at the municipal dock. Though we would have to pay to stay here, where anywhere else in the basin there would be no charge, the choice was based on obtaining a much needed shower.

But let me move on to Sunday. The lock system opens at 9:00 AM and is first come, first served. Each lock has a wall or walls before it that are painted blue or grey. Since no one uses a radio or a horn in Canada if tied up too the blue line it signals we will pass through. If on the grey, we will stay for the night. At eight in the morning, I decide to move the short distance to the blue line to be first in a nonexistent cue to transit Smith Falls Combined #29a lock. With this accomplished we sat by ourselves for an hour.

You might ask why a number like 29a when Detached Lock is number 31. Well, in 1973 a modern concrete, electric, and hydraulic lock was built to replace locks 28, 29, and 30, thus forever rendering the systems lock numbers a lie.

Lock 29a quickly lowers us 26 feet to the Rideau River below. Old Slys Locks, set two locks preceded by a bridge cannot be more then a half a mile away. In this short distance, the environment changes from urban to rural. There is a time calculation that goes on with transiting a lock, especially one with a bridge before it. When we were on the Trent-Severn Waterway last year the lockmaster anticipated our arrival by opening the bridge and lock gates so we could continue in and tie up in the lock, but on the Rideau they wait until we are seen and then seem to be reluctant to delay any cars from crossing.

To state the obvious, boats are not like cars. They do not easily stop and remain still, especially with a strong wind at your back and a current pushing us forward. There is also the consideration of depth and many times a channel narrows by walls, rocks, or weeds. The binoculars are brought out as I slowed Carrie Rose to a crawl to look for any signs of life on the bridge and/or lock. Similar to big following seas on the Great Lakes, the wind and the current like to twist the boat sideways or to use the correct nautical term, broadside. In the lakes, this can happen instantaneously requiring an immediate response, but here in the river it is a more insidious process. On the lake, the increased adrenaline that the environment demands keeps me on my toes. On the river, with all its distractions it sometimes sneaks up and is fiendishly difficult to correct for.

But I am being over dramatic here. The lockmaster swings the bridge and opens the gates. We attach to the first of two locks and drop another 16 feet. The walls of these locks look like what I imagine, in an odd twist of imagination, the weeds growing in our neglected backyard and the hanging gardens of Babylon look like.

Edmunds Lock and another 9 feet down is only two mile away. The river is closely bounded here and we move through a gentle s-shaped curve. This is farm country and we have the river almost all to ourselves. Edmonds Lock is straightforward and we pass quickly through it bantering with the lockmaster. The lockmasters keep close tabs on the boats transiting their domain, so they like to know how far we are planning to travel and where we might spend the night.

Now the river opens up. The banks widen and there is enough water for the brisk wind to start generating wavelets. Though this open stretch of water is a couple of miles long and ¾ of mile wide, we follow a prescribed set of buoys along the southern bank, which is bounded by Kilmarnock Island. A picture perfect farm gleaming green in the sun sits just to our right. I pick up the pace to 1500 RPMs here but not for long. Up and around a bend at the top of the island is Kilmarnock Island Lock #24.

Lock #24 is hardly worth it for a drop of two feet. This lock is unique in that the bridge lies solidly between the gates. These gates and the bridge need to be opened by hand. I slow and wait as the staff appears and starts the process. The gates are opened and the bridge is swung. It only clears the side of the west facing lock wall, so the helpful Canadian Parks summer employees cannot help us tie on. The wind blows Carrie Rose’s aft off the wall and Charlotte grabs the wire and pulls us in; saved again from an embarrassing locking moment.

Merrickville is 8 miles away and our destination. Here we will not lock through but tie up for the night. We are back in the river again, now increasingly marsh with five-foot cattails lining the route. This is a quirky place. Instead of going straight down the channel and tying to the grey line lock wall, we take a sharp left and a sharp right through a confusing set of buoys to the overnight docks.

Because of the also quirky buoy conventions, the colors of the buoys change sides for this short distance and I almost the miss the last red one, which is to our right. Mercifully, there is an open dock. I start my turn above it because the current and wind will push Carrie Rose past it if I do not. A fellow boater and a park employee wait for us. Just to make it interesting there are no cleats on the dock only rings and holes cut out of half-inch thick metal stock.

In the end, it is a beautiful warm day with a cool breeze and a bright blue sky. Merrickville is full of original stone buildings and the streets are full of flowers. There is a fiddler, Bob’s Chip Shop, a used bookstore with a knowledgeable owner and Charlotte finds a woven silver necklace with an amethyst set in silver. Today alone would be worth the trip to Canada from Chicago.