Last night’s
big storms never materialized and we awakened at our lovely campsite to a quiet
river and the prospect of reaching the St Lawrence by the end of the day. I
knew that this would be my last day of rowing with Matt, as he would have to
depart tomorrow from wherever we landed because of work. I was especially mindful
of how much I would miss his company during the rest of this journey. Some people
just make traveling like this seem easier, more joyful, more naturally
liberating and refreshing, and they accept the occasional hardships as necessary
and welcomed seasonings to the main course. When you travel in the company of
people like this, you are lucky. I am lucky beyond description to call one of
this company my son. We haven’t climbed onto the boats for our last day yet,
Matt, but let me tell you now that I love ya, man.
A quick round
of Starbuck’s Vias and Nature Valley Oat Bars and we are off and flying; a
south wind builds along with the beneficent current, and we are soon clocking up
to 7 mph over the ground this morning. A few hours later we reluctantly slam on
the brakes to visit Handfield’s, an oasis of refinement (and the purveyors of a
truly proper breakfast) and sure enough, as we climb back in the boats an hour
or so later, the wind shifts from the west and then blows from the northwest,
becoming an impediment for the first time in six days. We’ve been lucky.
But the
current is still with us and it is easy to seek the shelter of shoreline trees on
a river. The end of the Richelieu is in sight.
We traverse
the final lock with about fifteen miles to go and as we bob through, we meet
Phil and Helen from Vermont. They have departed Lake Champlain on their
beautiful Beneteau sailboat, mast on the deck to get under the low spaces, and they
are also headed to the Saguenay fjord. We exchange pleasantries and good wishes
as they motor off ahead of us. If I wasn’t so enjoying rowing with Matt, I
would be envious of their diesel….and their on-board coffee maker. Two hours later, Matt and I sense the urbanization of the Richelieu as we approach the city of Sorel on the St Lawrence. The white noise of the internal combustion engine rises in the distance and suddenly, in turning a corner, we are there.
After four
days of rowing in confined waters, emerging onto the St Lawrence presents the
spectacle of oceangoing ships moored along the shore or moving up and down the
river at impressive speeds. We immediately realize that situational awareness
is the new top priority. The residential and rural intimacy of Champlain and
the Richelieu has been supplanted by industrial activity; we row past a
freighter along the shore that is taking on some sort of granular cargo, and we
are immediately coated with some sort of fine dust...almost a powder. Is it
grain? A mineral? Do we want to know? Lick it, Matt, and tell me what you
think. Keep rowing, dad…just keep rowing.
Since the
confluence of the Richelieu and the St Lawrence rivers promised to present
confused waters, Matt and I had already decided that we would hug the west
(south) shore of the St Lawrence and pull into the first protected jetty we
found to take stock of conditions and determine our next steps. We soon come
across a bulwark of stone- an artificial harbor, of sorts- and pull in before
we are swept past in the current. I am met by a distant call of, “Hey! New York!
Over here!” and see Phil and Helen at a berth not far away. They are amazed
that we have made such good time from the lock and offer us a bit of wine. We,
by now knowing the importance of hospitality, graciously accept.
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Maybe it’s
the wine but as we take stock of our surroundings, I realize that this might be
a good spot at which to take a day off. First, Courtney will be driving up from
Saratoga to collect Matt and his boat tomorrow morning; this marina will be
easy to find and offers a nice ramp for lugging stuff up from the water. I’d
like to stay until he leaves and even though Courtney is an early bird, theirs
could be a later departure than a time at which I’d like to head out for my
first day on the St Laurence.
Second, Phil
will be stepping the mast on his sailboat tomorrow and has contracted with a
local crane operator to help him with the task. A second set of hands might be
useful and helping out might be a way of returning their hospitality. Also,
truth be told, I have always wondered how one goes about putting up a mast on a
large sailboat, so this could be a part of my own Continuing Ed.
Finally,
with the Big Waters ahead, I could stand a bit of R&R. I’ll be on my own
from here on out, and a day to get my head in the game (and to find necessary
charts) would be a day well spent.
Matt and I
found dinner at a cheesy Chicken Shack in Sorel and later joined Phil and Helen
for more wine as well as to share the excitement of the arrival of Sorel’s
Quick Response Team on an adjoining dock. We later learned that a crewman on a
freighter had fallen into its cargo hold and had been killed, so the Response Team
included medical, police, and maritime authorities…quite a show on the dock right
next door. I couldn’t help but hope that the perils of the coming days….the mast-raising,
the river, and unfamiliar cuisine…would not require their return. 
Matt tidied up
his boat one last time before bed and chose to sleep on the dock under the
stars while I, in the spirit of the Flomax Moment®, set up my tent ashore. It
rained a bit that night and Matt slept through it all like a seal on a rock….final
seasoning for the main course.
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