Author: diana.laverda1313@hotmail.com

We have encountered many people who have told us not to underestimate Lake Michigan. Explaining how she can turn on you in no time kicking up swells of 6-8 feet or more leaving even the seasoned boaters scrambling for a harbor of refuge to wait out her wrath. Little did we know at the time how spot on they were.

The port engine has been a little finicky as of late. I waved to Shoreline Traveler and wished them safe travels as the Captain tended to the engine which refused to start. A hour or so after our planned departure and a set of spark plugs later, the engine started up with no issues and we were off. I let out a sigh of relief and, leaving Mackinac Island in our rearview mirror, we passed under “Mighty Mac” spanning almost 5 miles across the Straits of Mackinac. There was a chill in the air as the wind circled around the flybridge so we bundled up (me with my newly purchased Mackinac Island sweater) and settled in for the long ride down the lake.

After a quick gas stop in Harbor Springs, we crossed over Little Traverse Bay and slid into a slip at the Petoskey Municipal Marina just as the water was getting choppy and began tossing us from side to side. Renee and Pierre helped us tie up safe and sound and we sat on their boat discussing the possibilities for tomorrow as the weather was turning bad quickly. Their adorable cat, Poilu, relaxed at the dinette as we talked over our options. After having a few drinks at Beards Brewery, I threw in some laundry and took a shower as Duane caught up on episodes of Family Guy in the lounge. All refreshed, we had decided to leave before sunrise to make it to Charlevoix before the gale force winds ensued and the surge invaded the harbor in Petoskey and made our stay very uncomfortable. We haven’t traveled in the dark EVER so I had butterflies in my stomach.

Charlevoix Marina was situated in a protected harbor so the effects of the predicted foul weather would not wreak havoc on the waters once we passed the inlet. Shoreline Traveler was not comfortable boating in the dark so they were staying behind waiting out the weather, but Duane said he had everything under control and made the call to cast the lines at 5am. Being appointed the lookout, I was very uneasy not being able to see in the pitch dark and prayed the radar would alert us to any impending obstacles. He kept asking me to elaborate on my response of “absolutely nothing but darkness” when asked what was ahead to which I almost hurled my headlamp at him. Around 7am we saw a glimpse of sunrise and I started to breathe easier. The wind was whipping as we turned North Point and the waves started to get riled up. In just about three hours we arrived at the inlet and bounced violently into Round Lake. Safe and sound and down a pack of Gin-Gins, my stomach settled and we were now ecstatic that we chose to make the early morning journey. The weather the next four days was going to make the lake unmanageable so we were hunkering down and going to enjoy the town.

To our delight, there were seven other Looper boats in the harbor waiting for the lake to calm, so docktails were scheduled for that night and we looked forward to meeting the group.

After we woke up from a short nap, we biked around the area. Charlevoix had the character of a true small town as residents welcomed us on every corner.

The main tourist attraction in the area — the Mushroom houses erected by Earl Young dating back as early as 1919— were constructed of indigenous materials and each unique in their own appeal. The Thatch House was my favorite and I wouldn’t have been surprised if a hobbit suddenly walked out of the front door.

We strolled along the beach and played in the park like children. And just like a five year old boy, Duane tried to ejected me from the seesaw like a torpedo.

A few hours later we met our fellow Loopers at the clubhouse and exchanged stories of boating mishaps and triumphs. Duane had a good laugh telling stories of my less than accurate attempts to snag a cleat with the dock line. If I could have predicted this to be my future, I would have taken up lassoing in college. Meeting Chris and Catherine (Two Loons), Linda and John (Moon Dance IV), Beth and Ray (Aristarcus), Tom (Careb), Joe (Breeze), Mike and Betty (Mon Ami), Geoff and Ruth (Geru) and Jim and Wendy (My Everything) was a pleasure and we finally felt like we were in the mix.

After the gathering I felt more at ease and assured that even if the day didn’t go as planned, which will happen often, and that there would be unexpected ups and downs everyday, we could get through it and the experience will be exhilarating.

The waves were unrelenting the next day from our view walking to the inlet. Once we stocked up on fresh baked goods and homegrown veggies from the Farmers market, we walked down to observe the swells. Thank God we were not traveling today. Renee and Pierre would definitely not be on the water today but we looked forward to seeing them soon.

Just by chance we met a couple, Jeff and Darlene, who were locals from Michigan and had their boat in the marina. After a few hours of bantering about boats and engines, (the men that is) they invited us to take a ride with them on their boat down Lake Charlevoix to Boyne City and East Jordan for dinner and drinks. We zipped along sipping our drinks and arrived at the end of the lake before Bella Donna’s engines would have even been warmed up. It’s nice to have friends with fast boats.

There were some spectacular homes up and down the banks of the lake which we all marveled at as we sped on by. It was definitely a great night had by all as we were elated to have met each other. We were absolutely grateful for their hospitality and hoped our paths would cross again soon. Duane was excited to have someone who appreciated his excessive boat talk and I was elated to have someone to share my cocktails with.

The next morning we received a text that Renee and Pierre were braving the waters to travel to the harbor. Arriving mid-morning into a slip right next to us, the rain was steady but everyone was content and relieved to be in a safe harbor. That afternoon was spent biking to the fishery and stocking up on the essentials–beer and wine. Duane tried to master the tricycle to transport our goods and almost lost our precious cargo as well as a tooth. I was starting to get antsy to travel on, but the lake had other ideas. It would be one more day…more docktails….and more rain before we all made our move. We met Chuck and Maggie that evening who arrived aboard their impressive sailboat, Timbuctoo, and were treated to homemade blueberry wine –maybe a little too much —before we turned in for the night.

The morning we departed the sunrise was as brilliant as we’ve seen in days. The Harbormaster helped send us off and as he pushed Bella Donna off the dock he uttered the taboo words…”Red skies in morning.” I cringed knowing the day may not be as smooth sailing as I had hoped…

After five hours of 3-4 foot rollers on the stern pushing us around, we both decided to call it a day and head to the quaint town of Leland. Two other Loopers took the same route as us as the others decided to travel further south and make up for lost time. We learned early on that this trip is ours and ours alone, so we bid farewell for now and decided to move at our own pace.

Leland resembled a small shanty town from one perspective and a peninsula which was renowned for it’s wineries from another. Taking off to town, we stopped at Grand Traverse Distillery for a tasting. Purchasing some irresistible chocolate vodka and a spiced rum, we worked our way to Verterra Winery which proved equally as inviting and satisfying. Our next stop was Fishtown which was a world unto itself. Fathers and sons cast lines from the water’s edge hoping to catch a salmon battling to conquer the dam. An older woman hung laundry over her porch just feet above the raging waters and tourists walked in and out of the alleys taking in the normalcy of it all.

Indulging in the best seafood chowder I have tasted in months at The Cove, we were at ease with our decision to turn into port that afternoon and not push further south. Tomorrow is another day and would be another challenge.

Our next three ports of call were in Frankfort, Ludington and Whitehall respectively. As we moved further along the lake, the wind and waves had exponentially increased so much so that I feared we were running out of opportunities for a good weather window to cross over to Chicago.

The trip to Frankfort started off as a rocky ride with the waves on the beam incessantly. The swells progressively got worse until the last 6 miles after the point… the wind was blowing at 25 knots and we were getting pounded by 3-4 foot waves. The rain had begun to fall as we made a beeline toward the inlet.

We anchored out in the harbor amongst two of our fellow boaters, Mon Ami and Careb, and then took Baby Belle ashore. After taking a stroll to the beach on the safe side of the crashing waves, we stopped for a drink at the eclectic Frankfort Hotel.

In the middle of the night, I was rudely awakened by water dripping on my head from the hatch. One of the many detriments of having an old boat are the leaks, so I put on my sweatshirt, pulled up the hood, and rolled over. The rain and wind wasn’t expected to let up all day so we planned to stay on the hook. That day proved to be very eventful as two boats in the marina burst into flames in the early morning. As plumes of smoke rose in the sky, we watched in horror through the binoculars and then everything went dark….blackout!

A few hours later Duane decided we should be adventurous and handed me a life jacket and my rain gear and jumped into Baby Belle. Sighing I grabbed a roadie and knew there was no way I was coming back as warm and dry as I was now. We bounced our way to gawk at the waves from the inlet and drove passed the burnt out boats before stopping at the grocery store, which was running on a back up generator, to purchase supplies for our next stop.

The skies were still ominous as we left in the morning, but we had a good weather window with the waves subsiding and the wind at our back. Trudging on toward Ludington, we had decided to treat ourselves to an “Anniversary” dinner. As Duane says and I concur, we were celebrating five years of me putting up with him. Our plans were quickly dashed once we tied up at the dock and stumbled onto a flood in the cabin. We had been tossed around pretty good the last few hours slamming down hard a few times due to the short wave periods that one of the fresh water hoses detached and the tank dumped into the bilge and all over the cabin. The next few hours were dedicated to cleanup which included four loads of wet towels so an Anniversary dinner was not in the cards today.

While the laundry was spinning, we grabbed some wine and took a stroll along the waterfront. The S.S. Badger was docked at the end of the pier. The massive steamship car ferry was 7 stories high and 410 feet long and dominated the skyline. Resembling the Titanic, the historic coal-fired steamship which was launched into service in 1953, shuttles passengers across the lake between Michigan and Wisconsin. Duane was is awe at the sheer enormity of the stacks rising from the deck bellowing out plumes of black smoke.

Clean towels folded, we departed in the morning to trudge further south. The coastline was very uniform with sand dunes sprawling upward from the coast. I settled in to drive for awhile as the Captain went below to have breakfast. The waters were currently calm, but there was a heavy mist invading the comforts of the flybridge so I was thoroughly soaked when he resurfaced. As much as he denied it, I think the timing of his meal was totally intentional. The drunk snake was more like a slithering eel as of late since the unpredictable lake action counteracted my steering ability to keep us on course.

Our friends on Geru were in our sights as we continued onward. Checking in on the radio, we discussed how the lake was predicted to stir up in the next few hours and we hoped to be safe in the harbor by then. Unfortunately for us, things quickly spun out of control as we passed Little Sable Point still 6 miles from White Lake. Being an hour ahead of us, Geru warned us that the lake had turned nasty as they pulled into the inlet, but there was nothing we could do except move on as the closest safe harbor was where we were heading. Soon we were in the thick of it with 6-7 foot waves crashing on the beam. The boat tipped so far over at one point that the handlebars of my bike strapped to the bow touched the water. The cooler in the back of the boat was thrown clear across to the other side and the cushion we had securing the dinghy became our second sacrifice to the water gods. As I descended the flybridge stairs to tie the dinghy down and prevent further disaster, I decided to sit on the cooler and wait out the turmoil. Unfortunately, that was not a possibility. As Duane bellowed for me to come back up and secure myself to my seat immediately, I knew the situation was much more dire than I thought. He usually taunts me with the theme to Gilligan’s Island during rough waters, but now he was stone-faced and silent. We did not speak for the next 15 minutes as he tried to maneuver us to safety by turning the bow 90 degrees off course pointing us toward Wisconsin. My grip was so tight on the handrail it was going to take hours for the “Lego hands” to subside. As we came down hard relentlessly every few seconds, Duane was attempting to find the perfect opportunity to put us back on course and not get tipped in the process. He asked me to find him a “small” wave to make his move, but I sat in silence as each looked tremendous as we seemed to be hurling toward a brick wall over and over. It seemed like hours, but his plan worked and he made his move on the perfect wave projecting us directly toward the inlet. Unfortunately, the worse was yet to come as we assumed once in the inlet our troubles were over. Oh how wrong we were! Barreling right at the breakwater wall there seemed to be no stopping our momentum as the waves were surging forward through the inlet. 37 feet from disaster, the Captain shut down one engine and floored the other and we broke free from the collision course with the rocks. The rest of the trip into the anchorage was a blur as we settled in the calm waters off the left bank behind Geru who were relieved to see us arrive safely.

Almost 200 more miles on this lake….not sure my nerves can take it.

At 8:43am we crossed back into the United States. 5 minutes later I received my first spam call in weeks. Welcome home!

It was a gorgeous day as we road the remaining 50 miles to Mackinac Island through Lake Huron without another boat in sight and not so much as a ripple on the water. The only sound for hours was us slicing through the blue waters following the GPS track until we were able to decipher the Mackinac Bridge in the distance. Just as we were in the home stretch we were swarmed by these annoying flies who seemed to be trailing us all the way from Canada. Not able to out run the “illegal aliens,” we took turns attempting to suck them up in the dust buster to no avail. The boat needed a good power washing later in the day as it was speckled in little black carcasses.

Excited to be on the island for the first time in our lives, we walked down Main Street to the sights of horse drawn carriages and tourists pedaling alongside on the windy streets. It was so refreshing to hear the plod of hooves as opposed to horns blaring or engines revving. The homes lining the streets were something out of a storybook with their ornate facades and floral landscapes. Taking in the landscape, we stumbled upon the Somewhere in Time gazebo. It was a perfect selfie moment.

Since it was such a beautiful day, we decided to take the bikes for a spin around the island. Only 8 miles around, we were able to circumnavigate the entire island and soak up the magnificent terrain and awe inspiring rock formations that made visiting this island a truly fascinating experience. In addition to the natural beauty, along the beach were remnants of the war torn history of the island. The backdrop was littered with spectacular limestone formations chiseled out over thousands of years by the wind, waves and receding glaciers. Arch Rock towered 15 stories over the Lake Huron shoreline as we scaled up 240 steps to catch a view from the top.

Taking a few breaks along the way up, we arrived totally out of breath but totally enthralled by the natural wonder in front of us. Devil’s Kitchen was equally as captivating and a relief to me that it was conveniently located along the shore and didn’t require any additional cardio exercise to explore.

On the ride back around the island, we decided to meander into Fort Mackinac and take a trip back in time. The fort was strategically built high on a bluff and captured by the British at the beginning of the War of 1812. Never regaining control, it was only relinquished back to the United States 15 years after America’s Independence. Attempting to kill time while waiting for the cannon demonstration, Duane challenged me to a game of checkers. I lost and had to follow through on the bet and mention his awesome gaming skills and superior intellect right here on the blog.

While we were out, Renee and Pierre aboard Shoreline Traveler arrived into the harbor. That night we had drinks and snacks as we recounted our travels since we parted a few days earlier. We were happy to finally be able to travel with fellow Loopers and filled each other in on our experiences along the adventure so far. They had engine issues and were significantly delayed which allowed us the opportunity to meet them once their rebuild was complete and they were able to move on. Renee had since named the problem engine which required a complete overhaul “Stinky.”

Rain poured down all the next day so, decked out in our best rain gear, we headed off to the historic Grand Hotel for brunch. The 19th Century hotel was the epitome of wealth. The grandeur of the front porch, which boasted to be the largest in the world, made you linger outside even in the dismal weather.

Every inch of the interior oozed the gaudy extravagance of centuries old prestige and privilege. Dripping as we walked on the green plush carpets, we tried to quickly dry off in the bathroom which was an experience unto itself. Duane was wondering what was taking me so long as I plopped down under the heat lamp with my feet up in the Ladies Room and lost track of time staring at all the gold fixtures and decor.

The spread at brunch was comparable to a lavish wedding and absolutely phenomenal. I definitely ate my money’s worth in shrimp and oysters. We topped the day off with drinks at the Cupola Bar and a walk around the grounds before hopping in our personal horse drawn carriage back to the harbor.

The winds on Lake Michigan were forecasted to be gusting well over 25 knots so we decided to stay one more day. I actually think we were both secretly excited about the development and additional time to explore. Awakened once again by the bugle sounds of Reveille coming from the fort, we quickly had breakfast and got ready for the new day. We set off early to bike through the island this time– instead of around the exterior– and see what we could find.

Skull cave is one of the island’s oldest geological formations carved out by the waves at the base of a limestone cliff. Duane can see the resemblance to a skull, I can not …even when I squint. Just prior to the cave, nestled under the protective branches of huge oak trees was the cemetery of fallen soldiers from the War of 1812.

Passing through town we stopped to purchase some fudge and tourist sweatshirts to add to the collection. I’ve been a walking billboard for weeks advertising all our prior destinations now that the weather is less than desirable and my summer attire inappropriate to keep me warm. Catching up with Renee and Pierre on the dock, we had some drinks and finalized our itinerary for the next day.

Listening to our last 10pm rendition of Taps echoing from the fort, Shoreline Traveler and Bella Donna had plans to depart for Lake Michigan in the morning. Praying for calm waters…

The morning we awoke in Little Current it was so foggy we couldn’t see another boat across the dock. Since our departure was delayed until the visibility improved, we decided to walk to town and get provisions for the next few days. In hindsight that ended up being a fortunate development since we ended up anchoring out the next 48 hours. We chatted with Renee and Pierre who were in the same predicament and, once the fog lifted, we followed each other out of the harbor.

Our first anchorage we found by chance as I was reading up on this town named Kagawong mentioned in one of our guides . The village sprouted up in a valley adjacent to Mudge Bay and the name translates to “where the mists rise from the falling waters.”

After three hours, we threw out the anchor and took Baby Belle ashore to hike up to the Bridal Veil Falls and breathe in the misty air. Duane jumped up and down like a five year old when we realized the salmon were spawning up river collecting at the pool at the base of the falls. He cheered them on as they struggled to inch their way through the shallow water over the rocks to their final destination.

The view from the top was worth every slip in the mud and near tragic fall onto the rocks below. Good thing Duane was right there to pull me up by the back of my pants. Since he “saved my life” he thinks this gives him a free pass to leave those damn socks all over the boat the rest of the trip. Guess he will be barefoot soon.

The trip down wasn’t as treacherous as the trek up and the scenery was even more spectacular. Maybe I just noticed more since I wasn’t worried about taking a header into the creek.

After we arrived safely back to town, we took a walk around the surrounding area which was pretty much desolate as we are finding very common at this time of the year. The nautical inspired St. John the Evangelist church stood out on Main Street with a rod iron anchor perched outside, so we ventured through the wooden doors. From the hull shaped pulpit to the boat lines adorning each pew, the church perfectly emulated a small fishing town from days past.

Before sunset we were headed home to barbecue and settle in for the night. Little did we know there was some sort of tribal celebration going on in the distance. We were soon rocked to sleep by the percussion rhythms echoing in the darkness through the trees. Duane, of course, scrambled for his ear plugs.

The morning was sunny and calm as we motored our way to the Benjamin Islands for an afternoon exploring the bay. The islands were perfectly situated off the small craft channel and stood strong in the distance. The rocky landscape surrounded the bay like a fortress and we settled right beneath the cliffs. Croker Island, just a mile beyond the Benjamins, had a small beach which, from the remnants of bonfires left behind, is a popular spot to bask in the beauty of the surroundings. Around two o’clock the wind started to pick up and the water was getting choppy, so we hightailed it back to the boat before it got too rough and we were thoroughly soaked and I had to bail out the dinghy again.

And we were off…the islands disappearing in our wake as we headed to Beardrop Harbour. Motoring for hours leaves much time for conversation and strategic planning. Today’s topic just happened to be the capacity of our holding tank. We found that pump outs are few and far between late in the season and, when one is located, it is pretty costly. We constructed guidelines as to when the bowl should be emptied. Needless to say, if “ice is added to the drink,” that is a “flushable”  offense.

And on we went through Whaleback Channel into the harbor where we set the anchor and opened some wine to enjoy the amazing sunset.

Waking up we realized this was our final full day traversing the Canadian waters. It is now Travel Day 36 and 41 days since we left home to begin our adventure. It was bittersweet, but as we tied up in the Thessalon Marina with only one other boat in sight and the the town dark for the season, we anxiously awaited crossing the US border into Michigan and into a whole new world.

I’ve never been so excited to step on solid ground and would have kissed the dock if it was not covered in goose poop. Killarney was as equally a beach town as it was a winter wonderland. During the summer months there is a frenzy of boaters frolicking around indulging themselves at oyster bars, enjoying live music and  watching movies projected over the water. Winter days can be filled with cross country skiing, snowmobiling and stargazing as we were told the skies are extremely dark in the winter months at that altitude.

The Killarney Mountain Lodge is an architect’s dream. The custom stone fireplaces were constructed meticulously by Dave who owns the bakery and also whips up fabulous pastries. Logs from the surrounding vicinity were trucked in to construct the entire backbone of the lodge.

After touring the ornate rustic bathrooms one last time, we made our way to Herbert’s Fisheries to finally enjoy some proper fish and chips. Locals and visitors alike lined up at the counter to place their order and Duane debated long and hard over the three or four fillet meal. With our appetites sufficiently satiated, we explored the rest of the town. Killarney definitely had that small town feel as we walked the unpaved street and weaved up and down the docks lined with fishing boats. Quaint shops were scattered about as was a beautiful church with a perfect view of the channel.

That night we sat at the Carousel Bar and enjoyed bison burgers as we discussed our travel plans for the next day. Grabbing pastries, apple fritters and muffins from Dave, the stone mason/baker, at Gateway Marina Bakery while the boat was being gassed up, we were soon on our way to an area called Baie Fine to anchor out for the night.

We had a 70 mile run through North Channel and right from the start the clear blue waters and granite landscape made for ideal cruising. I have mainly adjusted to the various sound effects on the boat, but for some reason the sudden squelch of the VHF radio gets me every time. Duane has deemed this not a “jumpable” offense, but I still beg to differ. A few miles passed Snug Harbor was a picturesque location referred to as the Hole in the Wall. We boated by in awe of the shoreline and went north toward Frazier Bay and anchored a little further away in Maryann Cove. The cove was part of Baie Fine which is reputed to have a fjord like landscape– which we hands down concur with after seeing the beauty before us.

Hole in the Wall

That evening we opened a bottle of wine and had a barbecue as we sat on the flybridge swinging around our fabulous serene surroundings well into the night. The next morning we hopped in Baby Belle and took a two and a half hour ride to “The Pool” at the end of Baie Fine. The topography was like none we have experienced thus far. To put a cherry on top of the cake, we hiked up to Topaz Lake which words alone do not do justice. It was a steep haul but, aided by a walking stick, I made it to the top relatively unscathed.

This spot also boasted about being covered in blueberry bushes. I guess the bears had ravaged the  area before we arrived. Duane found exactly seven berries which he scarfed down without a second thought. But why would I be surprised?? He eats berries from Central Park with no qualms and hasn’t had to have his stomach pumped yet.

Boarding Bella Donna later in the afternoon, we were off to Little Current to spend the night. The Goat Island Swing Bridge opens on the hour and this time we were spot on and idled through without having to stop. To our excitement we met a lovely Canadian couple, Renee and Pierre, who were also on the Loop aboard their boat, Shoreline Traveler. We spoke at length and made plans to meet on Mackinac Island once we both cleared customs.

The sun was shining as we pulled anchor and headed out of Byng Inlet. Turning passed the wind farm beyond Perkins Rock, we made a side trip to enjoy lunch in the Bustard Islands. Anchoring between granite rocks and a little cottage boarded up for the season, we lowered Baby Belle into the crystal blue waters for a refreshing tour around the collection of lush islands. The Bustards are virtually uninhabited except for a few cottages and the bears, of course. The unspoiled land and unparalleled scenic beauty was the perfect opportunity for us to pack our lunch and go gunkholing in the dinghy for a few hours. (New nautical term of the day–gunkholing…means meandering in and out of shallow waters)

After our playtime on Baby Belle was over, we loaded all the essentials back onto the boat. We motored our way through the Gun Barrel passage and onto Lake Huron on our way to Beaverstone Bay where we dropped anchor and enjoyed another spectacular sunset.

It took me a few minutes to catch on, but Duane started belting out his best rendition of Old MacDonald Had a Farm as we hit our 1000 mile milestone. Looking at my navigational charts we had boated by The Chickens just beyond Hen Island, passed McDonald Shoal and around Rooster Reef. How clever! E-I-E-I-O

The weather had begun to turn for the worst as we pulled anchor and drove toward Collin’s Inlet. A rock formation dubbed The Crabby Indian guided our path to a secluded spot behind Key Hole Island. After two and a half hours of the wind whipping at us and a downpour descending on us, we dropped anchor behind Key Hole Island and decided to wait out Mother Nature’s tantrum.

Our timing could not have been worse as the rain storm came through as we were simultaneously dropping the anchor or anchors I should say. Needless to say, Captain Duane was sufficiently soaked by the time we had two anchors set to hold us tightly in our spot. A lot of pampering was expected to reciprocate for his sacrifice of risking catching pneumonia (some eye rolling was in order). I opened him a beer and went about my business. That night I slept like a baby as the wind barreled down the inlet like a funnel. Duane kept a watchful eye as the wind shifted continuously and we swung toward the island at the mercy of the gusts. The rain had stopped by the time I awoke to a recap of how close we averted a catastrophe while I slept soundly. Nodding, giving him some reassurance, I know a large part of the story was embellished for my benefit. Or to make me feel guilty for sleeping through it all.

Duane had been reviewing all the forecasts and, though the storm had passed, the wind was still gusting mercilessly and the waves had not subsided. I thought I had sufficiently secured the interior and we made a run for it out of the protected area of the inlet. We were headed to Killarney which was a quick hour and a half jaunt. That short trip was the worst I have experienced so far on the trip. The 20 plus knot winds combined with 5 foot seas had me white knuckled as I was on the verge of crying and puking at the same time. To try and calm my nerves, Duane started singing Gilligan’s Island. To say the least, my reaction did not go over as planned and for the first time he picked up the speed to double of what we had being traveling at to get us through this mess.

The bay in Killarney was a sight for sore eyes and a queasy stomach. We picked up a mooring off George Island and went to inspect the damage. The cabin was turned upside down with anything that wasn’t screwed down flung as far away from it’s origin as possible. There was over 6 inches of water in the bilge and the kitchen drawers were flooded. As soon as I started getting feeling back in my fingers, I started with the cleanup.

Our next stop on the Georgian Bay was Parry Sound. To my dismay the weather has been much cooler than I would like, but I guess it is to be expected since we are late in the season and pulling up the rear of all the Loopers.

With the wind whipping in our faces, we followed the channel around the rocky facade of O’Donnell Point and into the tight squeeze of Twelve Mile Harbour. Island after island, each had their own character and stood bold in the September sun. Bella Donna did her best not to disturb the tranquility of the territory we were invading.

Hang Dog Island

Sometimes the names of the land masses and waterways we drive by intrigue me wondering how some of these monikers were derived. Any how, Devil’s Elbow was a magnificent sight of which pictures do not do justice.

On the way around Devil’s Elbow we sadly drove passed Henry’s Fish Camp. Closed for the season we were not going to be able to indulge in the world famous fish and chips everyone raves about. Duane was particularly sullen by the turn of events since his craving still has not been satisfied. He made the faux pas of ordering his fish grilled the last time….big mistake.

Our timing was a little off today as the swing bridge into Parry Sound only opened at the top of each hour upon request. 4 miles out we heard a boater request a 5pm opening so, knowing we had to wait for the next hour, Duane slowed down even more and got the roll of the eyes from me.

I was elated as the swing bridge opened and a few minutes later we were tied securely to the town dock wall. Thunderstorms were predicted for the next day so, arriving early in the evening, we would have to wait until the next morning to figure out the logistics of where Bella Donna was better situated the following night. There was a small airport for seaplanes at the end of the dock of which the Flight Deck Bar and Grill was attached. Grabbing a quick bite we planned to be back on the boat shortly. However, on the walk down the boardwalk a gentleman stopped us inquiring about our boat and invited us aboard his tug, Cambrian. Bob was the owner and commander of the 75 year old tug which was an auxiliary unit of the Canadian Coast Guard. After giving us some homemade wine, he guided us on a tour of the ship and filled us in on the tug’s lustrous history. Granted he lost me in the engine room discussing the gaskets and whatnot, but his stories were truly fascinating and we were so happy for the chance meeting.

The next morning the skies were dark and rain was predicted most of the morning into early afternoon. George who owned the marina by the town dock was going to aid us in a pump out and then assign us to a slip. As luck would have it, the rain storm sprung up as soon as we started the engines. As we all got drenched, I felt bad for pulling George outside. Not missing a beat as he held onto the pump out hose, he said “no worries, skin keeps your insides dry.” That was Canadian hospitality at its finest.

Once the rain stopped we decided to take a self guided tour to the old Fire Tower overlooking the town. Climbing all ten stories to the top to get a better view, I realized there was a paved road right outside the woods we had trudged through to get there. Thanks Google Maps!! Not!!

As luck would have it, in my favor this time, when the downpour started again, we were a mere block from the Trestle Brewery. What better place to wait out the storm and also be privileged to enjoy “Poutine Tuesday.”

We made a couple of stops along the walk back on the “Fitness Trail” as it was referred to and picked up provisions and some needed “boat parts.” The less I know about the actual necessity of the parts, the better.

A shower recharged our batteries and we had a lovely dinner at a quaint restaurant in town –Wellington’s. We made a point to say farewell to Bob and get some more traveling advice while delivering a bottle of Duane’s homemade wine to repay him. Hopefully he enjoys it as much as we enjoyed the bottle he bestowed upon us.

We had decided to anchor out the next two days and enjoy the mind numbing serenity of Georgian Bay. Plotting our course we set off toward Byng Inlet. Along the way the buoys were scattered haphazardly assuring that we were kept on our toes.

We arrived at the inlet well into the early evening. There was a Fall chill in the air which did not make me happy…Duane interjected that the cooler air was a foreboding to inclement weather to come. Mother Nature, please let him be wrong.

Historians say that the granite bedrock exposed by the glaciers of the last ice age formed the largest chain of fresh water islands in the world known as Georgian Bay. But, if you believe the legend, the 30,000 islands were formed when the god who guarded the whole bay, Kitchikewana, upset by his spurned affections for Wanakita, threw a wad of soil from one end of Beausoleil Island to the other in a fit of anger.

Whichever story you believe, the ensuing formations were a sight to behold and the waters flowing between them breathtaking.

We took a ride around Honey Harbour and decided to anchor just off Beausoleil Island in Chimney Bay through the Big Dog Channel. Along the way we passed homes scattered across the landscape perched on the granite boulders which lined the shores.

After the anchor was secure, we lowered Baby Belle into the water and made our way to Frying Pan Bay to explore and absorb the scenery. We took Little Dog Channel which was a more apropos route for our current method of transportation. We skated passed the rocks and lily pads as we entered the small craft channel we were on earlier that day. The channel was lively as people were boating up and down the bay around us.

We decided to beach Baby Belle and go for a hike on Beausoleil Island and then have a barbecue at one of the campsites at the water’s edge. The hike was mostly enjoyable except these mosquitoes seem to be immune to American bug spray. But, I sucked it up and trudged on…the wine helped of course. It was all in all a perfect day right down to the sunset. However, the clean up was a bit hasty as I noticed the bear warning signs on my way to the garbage and wanted to skedaddle before the smell of beans in the air attracted their attention.

I will never get tired of the yellow hue over the water as the sun sets and closes out the day.

Navigating the Trent Canal and what Canadians call “The Ditch” was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. These were the narrowest passages we have encountered so far. As the First Mate, I am the lookout for any impediments that may arise and are not clearly marked on the charts. As I do not want to be navigating the boat head on into a rock formation, I’m more than happy to man the binoculars and provide snacks.

Heading out through the breakwater onto Lake Simcoe, we seemed to have a good window to cross relatively smoothly. It was cold and windy but the waves were no match for Bella Donna as they hit straight on the bow and she trudged through without hesitation. We were safe and sound in Port of Orillia Marina in less than two hours. I had reluctantly agreed to stay two days in the town in order for some much needed maintenance work to be done on the engines and to wait out the impending storm.

I had my hopes up since Orillia was touted on a few sites as a rival to Nashville in the music scene. Those hopes were soon dashed as I was told upon check-in at the marina that after Labor Day everything pretty much goes dark.

I spent the afternoon washing and waxing the boat as Duane did his thing in the engine room. After that I preoccupied myself with laundry and took a luxurious shower in the new pods installed for the boaters at the marina.

The next day I set out on my solo tour of the town. There were art galleries, antique shops and museums up and down the blocks in walking distance from the marina. I went to get a much needed pedicure along the way and walked around exploring the town with my toe spreaders on as the salon did not have any nail dryers. Duane slaved away in the engine room all day so he was delighted when I returned with cold beers in hand. But, he was not so delighted that I only returned with one Italian hero which I half-heartedly shared with him. And to further prove what an awesome girlfriend I am and to reward him for all his hard work keeping our little abode running smoothly, we took off to town for a delicious Italian dinner at a local restaurant which was recommended to me on my afternoon walk. My treat!

Thursday arrived and I had come to terms with the fact we needed to spend another day to ensure the boat issues were rectified. We hopped on our bikes—one part pleasure excursion and one part maintenance expedition. When all was said and done and we had an additional 6 miles under our belts, we made a stop at the beach with a backpack full of boat necessities.

Friday morning I jumped out of bed with more pep in my step than I had in days. I had an agenda to stick to before we finally departed— one more pod shower to relish (you never know what kind of facilities are coming your way) and a quick stop by the Mariposa Market to purchase some freshly made cinnamon buns. I felt a cavity brewing just walking through the doors.

A warm bun in hand, we cast off toward Lake Couchiching and the last two locks before the Big Chute.

It was cold and cloudy and we arrived into Big Chute Marina late in the afternoon. After we tied up with the help of a couple docked near us, we walked over to the Chute to get a closer look. The railway car which was going to lift the boat out of the bay and carry her across the land to the body of water on the other side was fierce. I was in total awe, as I have been many times on this trip, witnessing the intricacies of the mechanics put in place so long ago to make this land accessible.

That night a couple we met earlier, Ken and Michelle, stopped by the boat and we had a bonfire up by the marina. We all discussed our travels thus far, and they, being from Canada, gave us some advice on the waters to come. We were excited about the next step of our adventure and settled into bed way after midnight all wound up with the anticipation.

We cast off our lines in the morning and turned out of the dock to wait in the designated spot on the wall at the blue line. Duane uses “boat slang,” as I call it, in some of the most inopportune moments. Case in point…approaching the lift I am concentrating on pulling in the fenders which have been out for the better part of the month through the locks in addition to securing lines in the event they are needed, when he bellows “Port side to.” Now I have the starboard and port references down pat, but normally have to respond with “to what?” fully expecting the sentence to be completed as to what his intentions are at that moment. Well he has ceased to respond thinking I am a mind reader and all I get is the “are you serious” look. As he flipped the boat around, I just pretty much threw my line at any cleat that came close hoping I hook it and then pulled tight.

The lift operator instructed a smaller boat to proceed onto the submerged car and then instructed us to assume our position at center back. I threw off the port line which I had masterfully secured to the cleat on the wall (that was the “to what” I had been waiting for) and Duane carefully maneuvered the boat onto her slings and, just like that, she was lifted out of the water into the cradle. Admiring the railway lift was one thing, but sitting on the bow experiencing the ride across and down into the lower body of water was a whole different ballgame.

Still riding on a high from the railway lift, the last lock in Port Severn seemed like a formality and barely registered in my mind. When reality set in, we realized we had arrived in Georgian Bay! Georgian Bay has been one of the most anticipated destinations of the trip. With that, we took off through the crystal blue waters toward the 30,000 islands…

We untied the lines from the lock wall and were on our way early in the morning. It was the Friday of Labor Day weekend and we were warned to get to our destination, Bobcaygeon, by 2pm to hopefully secure a spot. As Saturday was the Captain’s birthday, we have some celebrating to do. The sun glistened off the water as we turned around each corner entering the Kawartha Lakes on this leg of our journey. Clear Lake was the first of over 250 lakes and rivers in the Kawartha region we were going to be navigating. Granted, we weren’t going to travel on each and every passage, but the maze of water trails was mind-blowing. The lake would widen in certain areas and we could pick up a little speed, but we were basically going 7 mph the whole way. I was actually tempted to unstrap my bike from the bow and ride to the next town and wait at the lock for the boat to pass through. But, I’ve learned to bite my tongue with such sarcasm as to not receive the lecture yet again on how much gas we burn if the boat is up to a certain RPM and not on a plane. Duane tries to rationalize that the boat burns a gallon of fuel quicker than I can drink a glass of wine in hopes I will stop trying to grab the throttle when he’s not looking.

After the ten mile stretch on Clear Lake, we came face to face with Hell’s Gate and straight onto Stoney Lake. We were warned not to take these areas lightly and stuck to the channel as rocks were awash in every direction. As breathtakingly beautiful as the trip was, it possessed a hold your breath factor around every corner.

There were intriguing sights to see along the way as the small islands seemed to be inhabited by only one residence. Everyone seemed to have their own private oasis and there was even a church right off the channel which could only be attended by arriving by boat or some sort of water craft.

Once we passed Pigeon Lake, Lock 32, the oldest lock on the Trent-Severn which was the home of Bobcaygeon, was in our sights. It was just before the 2pm witching hour and we skated right into a perfect spot. At this point we have traveled for 21 days straight and were excited to have some extra downtime. Once the boat was secure and power hooked up, we took off into town which was buzzing with activity. It was a relatively small town which, in essence, they all have been, and we did some window shopping at the local stores. No matter how many locks we have gone through, Duane is still enthralled by the mechanics of the whole process and could watch the boats rise and fall and the gates open and close for hours. This being the Houseboat Capital of Ontario provided more entertainment than most on the locks as the renters of the floating homes were not all that skilled in maneuvering through the water. You bet Bella Donna had extra fenders out to ward off any wayward aluminum “mobile” residences. That night we had a pre-birthday drink at a local bar, 72 Bistro. I had made it to the Dollarama in the previous town and was able to put up some birthday decorations to surprise the Captain the next morning.

After opening his gifts…I think the bungee cords were the highlight…we dropped by a neighborhood store, Kicking Cowgirl, and bought the Captain these sought after shoes our Harbor Host had been wearing the prior day. Pam and Gary were gracious hosts who provided us with a welcome packet of coupons and maps for the area and their daughter just happened to own the store. As per many recommendations, we had lunch at Just for the Halibut. Very deceiving by the worn down facade, the inside opened up into a tastefully decorated establishment with dining space around each corner. Next on the birthday tour was Kawartha Dairy for some ice cream. In business for over 80 years, all the products are fresh and made from milk and produce obtained exclusively from the outlying Ontario farms. Cones in hand we walked around the neighborhood and admired the homes with their front porch swings and manicured lawns. The Water’s Edge restaurant had a beautiful view of the lake so we sat on the back porch for an appetizer and some drinks.

After a long day, we went back to the boat and opened a bottle of champagne. All rested in the morning, we took off for the next town, Fenelon Falls, where we were staying the night. Much like Bobcaygeon, Fenelon was a small town swarming with tourists and locals alike trying to get the last licks out of summer. We grabbed a freshly made pizza from Slices and Scoops on the boardwalk which literally closed for the season two hours later. While the pizza was being made, we dropped by to visit with Pam and Gary at their store, Water Street Clothesline, and I purchased a Loop T-shirt. Day 3 of the birthday celebration was now in full swing so we purchased some pastries at My Little Pie Shack and indulged our sweet tooth by the lake. All showered and cleaned up, the Fenelon Brewery was a short walk from dinner, so we decided to partake in some beverages. Not realizing they had just opened for business a few weeks prior, due to certain licenses, we were only able to purchase beer to go. Oh well…we sat by the pier and cracked open a cold one. Compliments of Duane’s mom, Jean, and his sister, Lisa, I made reservations at Orchid Thai Bistro for dinner. The meal was phenomenal and, to boot, we had plenty of leftovers for a nice engine lunch on our travels the next day.

It was cold, rainy and windy the next morning. Entering Balsam Lake, we were headed for our second lift lock in the town of Kirkfield. Kirkfield is the second highest hydraulic lift lock in the world at 49 feet. This time, though, we will be going down. At 840.5 feet above sea level, the top of the lock was the highest point on the Trent-Severn. Descending in the lock provided a much different experience than going up. Seeming to go much faster on the drop, I definitely had butterflies in my stomach. All downhill from here, we had to make a mental note that the red and green buoys will reverse sides from here on out.

The Trent Canal was the narrowest water we have passed through thus far. The next five locks were spread out over less than four miles so I just sat on the bow between each one and enjoyed the scenery and watched for rocks. About a mile and a half after Lock 41, we passed through the Lakeshore Road Swing Bridge arriving at the entrance of Lake Simcoe. The crossing is about 15 miles and, since the buoys are placed so far apart, our GPS charts would navigate us safely across. After speaking to the bridge operator, we decided to tie up on the wall right at the breakwater and cross the lake in the morning when the prevailing winds were to be in our favor. The operator was a sweet woman who instructed us where to tie up as to avoid the submerged logs and her prized turtles. As the sun set, Duane pulled out the multi-purpose boat hook and went apple picking. Another great and eventful day on the water.

Watching out for the turtlesApple picking

Fortunate for us, our days are not starting as early as they did on the Erie Canal…Canadians seem to like to sleep in. The locks on the Trent-Severn open at 9am until Labor Day— opposed to 7am while we were in the US. This means that Duane is able to have his breakfast before we cast off and I can brush my teeth without banging off the bathroom walls.

I am also able to pack our cooler with the essentials for the day as to not have to exert myself and walk down the 8 steps from the fly bridge while underway. I have to say, even though they block my sunshine at certain times during the day, the solar panels running the refrigerator have been a welcome addition to our travel ensemble contributing greatly to my sanity and need for a cold drink as soon as we stop for the day.

The waters are now so clear and not too deep along the canals. It makes for a gorgeous path working our way through the red and green buoys, but also reminds us to stick to the channel as rocks and boulders abound a few feet outside the safe zone. As long as we take it slow and steady and heed the warnings of other boaters, hopefully we will not have any cause for worry and the rocks will stick to their side.

Our destination today was the Peterborough marina. We, for one, wanted to bike to the lift lock and see what this monstrosity was all about. I was told it was like riding up 65 feet in a bathtub, but needed to see for myself. Second, I was told they had a restaurant which served one hundred different kinds of poutine. Fries with cheese and gravy are definitely my weakness so that was a going to be a must stop. On the way, Duane requested to check out the Canadian Canoe Museum which has the largest canoe and kayak collection in the world. I quickly obliged since I had a few other detours to spring on him and this good gesture would give me leverage.

The lift lock was even more impressive up close. Completed in 1904, it was constructed of two “pans” which balanced each other out when filled to capacity with water. In order to raise one pan and lower the other to allow a boat to lock through, one foot of extra water was added to the upper pan to push it down. The whole concept still boggles the mind…I was just praying the door did not open on our trip to the top.

Needing to calm my nerves, we biked to Black’s Distillery (my first detour) where we had a cocktail and sampled their signature vodka, cassis and rye. Totally impressed by the taste and distilling process, we purchased some bottles, strapped them to Duane’s back and rode on. Next on the bike tour, was the Whistle Stop for poutine, but not before a quick side trip (detour) to Publican Brewery which caught my eye (wink wink) as we pedaled by.

The lift lock definitely lived up to the hype. Entering the tub, as we called it, and ascending 65 feet straight up was unlike anything I ever imagined doing. When we arrived at the top and the gate lowered and we drove out onto the river, I felt slightly discombobulated knowing the other end of the waterway is flowing six stories below. The rest of the day was full of going in and out of less exciting locks on the river until we reached Lock 27 in Young’s Point and decided to grab a mooring spot on the wall outside the Lockside Trading Company. At first glance it looked like an old farmhouse, but upon entering from the porch, we realized it was a unique place which rivaled any home goods and furniture store and served ice cream to boot. I almost purchased a hand carved wooden table but Duane pretty much dragged me out of the store by my ponytail.

The long weekend was coming up in addition to Captain D’s birthday so I had to make some preparations before we took off tomorrow. I settled in with a glass of wine to enjoy the sunset and put my thinking cap on.

Here we go….As we passed under the bridge, I hurried to get all my gear ready. We had been told that the Canadian locks were much different than those we have encountered and, at this point, I had no idea if that was a good thing.

To my delight, it was definitely a positive development. Since we were now in fresh water, the lock walls did not have that slimy decor. Also, the cables hanging from top were covered in rubber so my line would slide up easily. And God bless the Canadians…they required two people to secure the boat in the lock, so Captain Duane was put on stern duty which helped my arms out greatly.

The locks were manual which meant the lock crew had to actually crank the doors open and close. It reminded me of the classic playground Merry-Go-Round ride which was powered by running around in a circle and then jumping on. Duane, of course, had to get in on the action. After observing the method a few times, he went up to the lock master and lent a hand. A little dizzy on the return, we took off down the canal… albeit not in a straight line.

The scenery on this stretch of the trip was unlike anything we have seen. It was nail biting at some points as the canals were so narrow we prayed another boat did not appear in the distance coming our way.

That night we decided to throw anchor and enjoy the serenity. I’m still unsettled by the whole one with nature concept and make my rounds at night to lock us in securely. Duane just rolls his eyes as I barricade the door.

There are really no words to describe the sunrise…fog was rolling in as the orange rose over the dunes creating the most picturesque backdrop. When I opened the door to let in the morning breeze, I saw the back deck caked in Kamikaze mosquitoes whose efforts to invade were hampered by my nightly lock down…guess I managed to keep out these dangerous intruders.

As we pulled anchor and turned back into the channel, I read up on the locks we will be tackling today. We were much anticipating the double lock which will be a new experience for us. There are two such crossings on the waterway and, for each, two locks share a common wall. Going inside the lock was daunting as the second wall towered over us on the other end. After going through over 40 locks, Duane still proceeds to exclaim ” here it goes” once the doors bang close and the valves are open. It’s not like I’m going to miss the whirlpool of water brewing below the bow trying to twist the boat sideways, but he always gives me the heads up.

After tying up at Old Mill Park in Campbellford next to the famous $2 coin, we unstrapped the bikes from the bow and went to explore. Being tourists for the day, we hit all the hot spots. First we rode along the channel to view the lock from a different perspective. Next stop was to the World’s Finest Chocolate outlet where we purchased 8 lbs of chocolate before biking 6 miles to the Empire Cheese and Co-op farm. The store was small but I felt we needed to load up on cheese to make the ride along the country road mostly uphill worthwhile. Needless to say, we will be eating chocolate and cheese until we hit Florida. Dooher’s bakery was our final destination in town. It was voted the number one bakery in Canada and for good reason. We have been hearing about butter tarts non-stop since we entered Canada and finally had our chance to sample the maple filled pastry which were absolutely outstanding. Good thing they are not readily available as I would have to run up and down the fly bridge stairs constantly to work off the calories.

Following boating etiquette, I have begun to wave at people passing on the street when we are on foot to which I get some raised eyebrows. Canadians are super friendly so I usually get the obligatory wave back.

To get some weight off the boat, we gave some chocolate to the lock crews the next day. The Healey Falls flight lock was the second double lock raising us 54 feet and one of the last locks in the Trent Region of the waterway. It was a very rainy day so once we passed Hastings, we turned into a crook off the channel and dropped anchor in the Otonabee River. We intended to barbecue, but the swarm of mosquitoes won and we ate cold leftover chicken and broke open a bottle of wine to ease our disappointment.

Tomorrow we will come face to face with the gigantic architectural wonder–the Peterborough Lift Lock.

Looking out over the breakwater onto Lake Ontario brought back memories of that dreaded day we left 14 days ago. We were told we had a weather window and needed to jump on it early as the waves were to pick up the next few days on the lake. So, armed with a pocket full of Gin-Gins, a sweatband on each wrist (I think it’s a gimmick, but the distraction keeps my mind off the roller coaster) and some ginger snap cookies, I took my place next to the captain and off we went — destination Canada!

One foot seas were predicted…in actuality what ensued were more like three foot swells which were unrelenting. I think Duane actually likes when I think it’s a rough ride, because I volunteer to drive since I can brace myself under the steering wheel. But, this situation is often short-lived as he has a look of terror on his face the whole time the drunk snake is at the helm. The choppy ride lasted for most of the 35 miles across until we were in protected waters, but it was actually bearable.

Our destination was Picton Harbor in Ontario. We needed to clear customs and tie the boat up for the night. Upon arrival, we were greeted by the Canadian Navy who blocked our entrance until we provided the required paperwork, but we were able to bribe them with hot dog buns.

Map in hand we walked around Picton, our first taste of Canada. We stumbled upon a brewery and listened to live music as we enjoyed some local beers. And when I say stumbled, I mean it is a good thing I was in charge of the map and am an expert at deciphering the location markings for food and drinks.

We shoved off for Trenton the next morning. It was now Saturday and we were on day 15 of the trip. Duane has currently become tired of me asking how long it will take to get to our next stop, so he has turned my days into a math lesson. Distance = Speed X Time. I have, in turn, stopped with the “are we there yet” inquiries.

Trent Park Marina was beyond what we even could have expected. We met our first Harbor Hosts, Eric and Karen, aboard their boat, Tropical Horizons. They were so gracious and informative about the areas we would be visiting giving us the ins and outs of the Canadian waters. In addition, they provided us with a detailed booklet which will be my bible the next few weeks.

Trent Port Marina was also by far the nicest marina we have docked at. Along with individual shower pods, they had a free laundry facility and public barbecue area. For a few hours I felt like I was at a spa and relaxed in the boater’s lounge to catch up on the news realizing we have missed nothing. Eventually Duane tracked me and the newly laundered sheets down so he was able to go to sleep.

Tomorrow is a big day…we will be starting our trip on the Trent-Severn Waterway and going back into the Lock system. 44 locks over the course of 240 miles. We will lock up to a whopping 841 feet above sea level before beginning a steady decline to 578 feet above sea level at Port Severn. Good thing I remembered to put my lock gloves in the washing machine.

The next three days we traversed the remaining 16 locks we needed to encounter on the Western half of the Erie Canal before we reached Three River Junction and turned onto the Oswego Canal toward Canada.

Since we left so late in the season, we rarely saw another boat motoring up or down the canal. But, I still had the impulse to turn every time I heard an engine in the distance only to be disappointed to realize that it was the traffic passing overheard as we drove under the highways. This leg of the trip was VERY peaceful and downright trance inducing. My only excitement at some points was the thrill I had flipping the page on the navigational map book after I counted every single buoy in that stretch leading up to our next waypoint.

We had a groove going in the locks now and to add some exhilaration to the day, we switched to the starboard side to lock through on a whim. Duane was becoming an expert at maneuvering us into the lock even with the eddies pushing us in every direction on approach. He was also getting much better at not cutting me out of the selfies.

The first night we stopped right after Lock 14 at the Riverfront Park Wall in Canajoharie. The mosquitoes have been out in full force and we both smelt like a tossed salad going to bed as I doused us both in vinegar.

The next day we tied up at the Little Falls Terminal Wall, but not before we experienced Lock 17 which would lift us 40.5 feet above sea level—the largest elevation on the canal. Looking up at the wall was very intimidating as I scrambled to get myself in place and not be impaled by the bicycle strapped to the bow.

Little Falls was a small quiet town, equally as inviting, as we were soon greeted by Mr. Ray who was a member of the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) established by FDR to relieve unemployment during the Great Depression. Boy did he have some stories along with a suggestion to visit the town library which I am so glad we took. Located in a valley on both sides of the Mohawk River, Duane did not hesitate to point out the not so thick wall holding the water at bay.

Along the walk we happened upon a small local bar equipped with an old school jukebox belting out 80’s tunes. We stopped by for a Captain and Ginger which were $3.50 a drink… so we had two.

The next morning we took off toward Sylvan Beach Pier passing the town of Rome along the way….this is where the construction of the Erie Canal all began. During this time we tackled our first descending locks… which I was pleasantly surprised were much less stressful on the brain and the arms.

Sylvan Beach Pier reminded me of my childhood days spent at Rye Playland, but now they had wine slushies. I have to admit that, for once, Duane did beat me in air hockey but I earned enough tickets to trade in for 8 pieces of blueberry taffy.

After a good night’s sleep, we had one more lock to take on and then we were off to the Oswego Canal. Cruising across Oneida Lake was picturesque on such a calm day. Note to self….touching the radar after eating Doritos is almost as bad as using the magic eraser on the hull.

On the way to our next stop, Pirate’s Cove Marina, we stopped for gas at Winter Harbor and were invited to help ourselves to fresh vegetables and herbs right on the dock. After each stop we marveled on how hospitable and accommodating the people were that we have encountered… and we are still in New York!

Pirates Cove Marina was by far the best stop we have had on the trip. Not only did I receive a welcome package, they had the transmission seal that Duane desperately was searching for to cure our leakage issues. If that wasn’t enough for us to give them 5 stars, they had a courtesy car we were permitted to take to town and load up with supplies…no strapping the cooler to my back today.

The next morning we departed and made a right at the fork onto the Oswego Canal. The ride was pretty much the same as the last few days….green as far as the eye can see, calm waters and a log or two (most of the time it was just a duck which I mistook for a log from the distance…go figure.) We completed all seven descending locks in the 24 miles without incident and decided to hunker down for the night at the Port of Oswego Marina at the mouth of Lake Ontario. A band was playing in the town square as we had a cocktail preparing for the crossing tomorrow into Canada.

Today is the day…we set out early and crept up to our first lock…the Troy Federal Lock. But not before…drum roll please…we floated under our token bridge of the day– Castleton on the Hudson.

Technically the Troy lock is still on the Hudson River, but that did not make the situation any less intimidating. As we came closer to the structure, it seemed more like a scene from Jurassic Park than a gateway to the Erie Canal. Gargantuan metal doors hid the chamber we would be sealed in as the water filled and raised us up over sea level. Right next to the massive metal doors, a tidal wave of water was rushing at us from the dam and, with no time to think, we were given the green light to proceed inside. I stood on the bow with my boat hook in hand and waited to see what was in store for us now.

As we passed through the gates, the Jurassic Park analogy was spot right down to the ominous bang of the enormous doors to signal we were locked in. At this point we had to choose to grab weighted lines that hung from the top of the lock walls or put a line around the cable running down the recess on the wall. I decided to put my line around the cable and hold tight as the lines hanging from the wall were disgusting and slimy. Soon the water was bubbling around us and we felt the boat rising. I held tight and pulled the line to keep us against the wall as the force of the water was doing its best to push us around. It felt like an eternity, but the water finally stopped flooding the chamber and the doors on the other end creaked open. Duane started the engines as I pulled the line from the cable and pushed us off the wall. Lifted 14 feet… Lock 1 down…..100 or more to go.

Being sprung from the lock, I let out a sigh of relief. At the fork in the road, we took off to the Erie Canal without any hesitation. Stopping in Waterford, we were able to tie up the boat and walk to the second lock in order to get a bird’s-eye view of the whole process. Duane, of course, was preoccupied with the machinery behind the system. I was just amazed by the shear force of the water barreling against the doors.

The next 5 locks were aptly named the “Waterford flight” as they would lift us the greatest height in the shortest distance of any canal in the world–About 169 feet over the course of a mile and a half. My ears are popping just thinking about it.

Each lock on the Flight had their own deceptive charm from the outside, but inside the concrete walls with layers of sludge looked familiar. As we soon realized, the situation could get hairy at any minute. Sometimes the boat would swing out from the force of the water and I was practically lifted off my feet trying to wrangle the line hanging from the wall and get the 10 tons back into position.

Being ambitious that day, we set out to accomplish 2 more locks. Duane kept updating me on the dark cloud formations rolling in so I should have guessed mother nature had other things in store for us. Once we left Lock 6, the lock master told us to give him time to drive over and open the guard gate. Not really sure what he was taking about, we both smiled and waved…then I saw it. Two tremendous structures resembling a guillotine that could probably chop the boat in half were right in our path. We were told that these gates were built every five miles on the canal in order to provide protection to the land below in case of an emergency or to close off a section of the canal when a lock needed to be repaired.

As soon as we made it to Lock 7, the skies turned black and we heard thunder in the distance. We were not more than a quarter mile passed the lock when the skies opened and lightening was streaking across the sky. Duane was now in full apocalypse mode as I cleaned up the peanuts that spilled on the fly bridge in the excitement. Not being able to see 10 feet in front of us as we were pelted with rain, we dropped anchor right in the channel and waited out the storm. After about 30 minutes (a long 30 minutes which I was trying to use productively but kept getting summoned to marvel at how it was raining sideways), we pulled up the anchor and took advantage of a lull in storm. No more locks today…we took refuge for the night at the Schenectady Yacht Club and called it a day. Hot showers and homemade pizza from the gas station were our reward after an exciting day on the canal. Tomorrow we will tackle Lock 8 and move on…

The 50 plus mile trip to New York City was like riding on a sheet of glass. It was thankfully an uneventful trip…well, until it wasn’t.

To start the drama off, a yacht about 7 times our size decided not to be courteous and at high speed passed our port side without even a toot of his horn. The wake that ensued was nothing short of a tsunami in my eyes. As we violently shook like we were in a bell tower, I tried to hold on for dear life as I grasped at everything being tossed around the flybridge. To our amazement, there was only one casualty of war, the anchor light. Guess that was our sacrifice to the water gods that day.

As we passed under the Throgs Neck Bridge and into the East River, I was welcomed home with the sounds of sirens blaring and the incessant chime of horns honking. The skyline was becoming clearer and expanding before our eyes. It was so surreal seeing the surroundings from this point of view.

Once we passed Ward’s Island and entered Hell’s Gate on the East River, the water churned below us in every direction. Duane was an expert navigator as I sat and cringed as the ferries swarmed around us shuttling people all over the city. It was the water version of rush hour in Times Square.

Every bridge we passed under had its own distinct architectural beauty. And the familiar sounds of the subway rumbling overhead brought a smile to my face and ear plugs to Duane’s ears.

Passing by the Empire State Building, the United Nations, South Street Seaport and the Freedom Tower, our ultimate destination was the Statue of Liberty.

In the 5 years we have dated, it has been Duane’s obsession to visit the statue. I, growing up in NY, have never had any desire to be up that close and personal on a small island with thousands of tourists. So this is what he settled for…anchoring 500 feet off Liberty Island for the night.

I have to say, the view was breathtaking. As we barbequed our ribs off the back side of the island and popped open a bottle of Rose’, we marvelled at the enormity of it all. Then a jetskier flew by and almost made fish food of our dinner.

That night we were rocked to sleep by a very tumultuous babysitter who left the lights on all night. It was the experience of a lifetime, but the next morning we bid Lady Liberty farewell and took off to the comfort and protected area of the marina. Along the way we passed Ellis Island, the Central Railway Terminal and the “Empty Sky” memorial in Liberty State Park.

That day I spent getting our act together and organizing our living space before we took the 10 minute ferry ride to downtown Manhattan to have farewell drinks with friends. It was so amazing to see great friends and family one last time before we left to explore parts unknown. Our time together flew by and we were soon waving to everyone as we took off on the last ferry back to the boat. I soon realized the next year will be filled with many firsts as my last Happy Hour is NYC was now over. I had very mixed emotions about this…Duane was just relieved he was able to drag me on the ferry without incident and we were not stranded across the river.

It will be an early morning rise the following day to continue our trip up the Hudson to the Erie Canal. Fingers crossed the calm waters persist.

After getting beat up the first day of the trip, we had a relatively calm ride into New York landing in Port Jefferson Harbor in the early afternoon. We rose at the crack of dawn, but it was well worth the search for my sweatshirt as our first sunrise was spectacular.

Port Jeff was buzzing with boaters and crowds of people were enjoying Sunday Funday. Danford’s Marina had numerous yachts which dwarfed our Bella Donna, but once we settled into our mooring, cold drink in hand after the long ride, we couldn’t have been happier on our floating abode.

One of the realizations we had today is that I have no patience for driving…or steering I should say. Hopefully in the next 5,917 miles my skills will improve and I’ll stop looking like a drunk snake slithering along the water. According to Captain Duane, I am very detrimental to our our fuel consumption.

Another realization was that I have little or no concept of how to read the radars. To my defense one tracks us north and the other south so trying to follow the navigation line is tricky, even with two good eyes. Nice trying to confuse a girl at 5:30 in the morning. The little yellow blobs remind me of an old Atari game. But, all I have to remember is that as long as none of the blobs invade our circle, I’m all good.

To our delight, we had great friends who I had known my whole life come to the marina to see us before we departed. Linda, Lauren and her daughter Katie waited for us to take the water taxi ashore and we all walked down the waterfront. After treating us to a delicious dinner (which Duane appreciated since I’ll be making cold cut sandwiches the next few days) and handing us a bottle of champagne, they wished us well on the rest of the journey.

Next stop….New York City!!

So the adventure begins…finally. As of 9am this morning, we are officially Loopers. 35 miles and 5 hours later, we are safely anchored in Hamburg Cove on the Connecticut River. We couldn’t have asked for a better send off this morning. As our friends at Harboredge woke up early to bid us farewell aided by the official conch shell trumpet, we turned out of the marina waving as they disappeared into the distance. Now, we were on our own.

Originally we planned to make the 60+ mile trek to Port Jefferson, but the Long Island Sound and our beloved Bella Donna had other plans for us. The wind was whipping and 3 to 5 foot waves made us feel like we were in a blender. Gin-Gins (great little ginger chews) are always my go to for the rough trips, but there is nothing comfortable about being thrown from side to side every few seconds, so our plan was aborted and we turned up the river to calmer waters and headed toward the Saybrook Breakwater lighthouse. To add insult to injury on our first day, the starboard engine was stalling with every slap of a wave against the hull. The Captain was beside himself trying to get a handle on the issue and my stomach was in knots fearing the trip was over before it even had begun. We decided to take a deep breath, drop the anchor and regroup. Finally being able to come down from the fly bridge, the interior of the boat looked like someone ransacked it. As soon as the anchor was set, I had a lot of straightening up to do. To my dismay, the 20 or so pairs of socks that absolutely had to accompany us on the trip according to the Captain, were strewn all over the V-berth.

Settling in to a quiet spot, I was trying to relax and not show how nervous I was over the engine problems while picking up all the cookies that scattered when the first wave came over the bow. Little did we know, a wedding was going to be taking place right across from our anchorage so I was able to get some cleaning motivation from Neil Diamond and the Captain suddenly had a revelation…maybe it was as simple as the ignition switch and not the engine at all. Taking off to the flybridge, I waited in the salon with high hopes, as he tested his theory. After meticulously cleaning the switch and replacing the connection, he was fairly confident that we were back on track.

So ends our first official travel day. As Sweet Caroline plays, the water slaps against the hull and Duane snores next to me, I look forward to the days to come. But, first we must make it out of Connecticut. Tomorrow is another day.