Day 5, July 1. Locking Down to Mayhem

 Waking up on a wet dock in St Jean sur Richelieu did nothing to inhibit our typical get-going-itis, but this morning our start would be reliant upon the opening of the first lock at 8 AM. We packed the boats, tidied up in the marina’s men’s room, and prowled into town for breakfast. This town sleeps well after a street festival, and it took some time and the obvious gesticulating with an amiable street sweeper to locate a breakfast nook.

Some Fast Facts about St Jean while we wait for the lock to open?

·       5,750 of its inhabitants commute to Montreal , while only 745 Montrealers work in St Jean. None seemed in evidence this morning. If you like St Jean sur Richelieu and hate traffic, live in Montreal.

·       Hockey legend Bernard (Boom Boom) Geoffrion and 1993 World Champion figure skater Isabelle Brasseur both call it home. We walked past an impressive gymnastics training center but saw no ice until our water arrived in the diner. The locks and canal, as it turns out, are popular skating venues in the winter.

·       The Chambly Canal’s ten swing bridges and nine locks (all “down” as we head north) are designated as a National Historical Site of Canada and many of them, including all of the locks, are hand-operated.

·       If I were a college kid or an aging teacher, operating a lock would be just about the coolest summer job ever. The lockkeepers wear these great uniforms with cute little beavers on the pockets.

Breakfast done, I arrived at the first lock on foot because we had to purchase passes for the system ahead. The lockkeeper had no extra uniforms (hey, no harm in asking, right?) but did say that after we passed his lock, he’d be the first of eight lockkeepers to call ahead to his colleagues after we’d passed; we could expect an easy, delay-free passage today. Cool.

The locking-through process is a snap. After the lock doors open and a green light is issued, you power into the concrete and stone chamber to either wall and grab a rope. The doors close, you remain along the wall by hanging on to the rope, and the still water of the lock gently descends to the next level as the valves behind you are opened. The doors at the other end then open and- voila!- out you go, rowing out onto the canal and the next lock.

 

The eight-mile transit of the Chambly Canal is advertised as taking from three to five hours, but the very light traffic and total attentiveness of the lockkeepers enabled us to proceed more quickly even though we didn’t want to rush this pleasant row. Flanked by charming houses, a bike path, and lovely fields, the canal’s narrow width also provides a rower with a sense of speed. As the day grew hot, the tree-lined shores provided some shade but no breeze, a stark contrast from the wide waters of Lake Champlain.  

Heading north, the canal terminates in Chambly at a flight of three locks in succession in a dramatic descent to the Chambly Basin. We paused for lunch at the top of the flight, leaving the boats at a park and enjoying an expansive view of the Basin below. We commented on the strong building wind and the density of the boat traffic. Then I was distracted by a plate of spaghetti. Just for the carbs. Need the carbs.

Back in the boats after lunch, we entered the “flight” and immediately began to chat it up with the gathering crowd. We were “it” on a busy day, Canada Day, and our journey seemed to fascinate the gathered vacationers. One very kind family offered their house for our next overnight (“we’re about 20 kilometers miles upstream…two red chairs on the lawn...you can’t miss it…”).

We pushed out of the third and final lock at about two o’clock, rowing into Chambly Basin, a circle of aquatic mayhem or, more precisely, 

The Evacuation of Dunkirk as Reenacted at Skippy’s Water Park during Hurricane Andrew on Canada Day, When There Are No Rules…and No Limits.

The Chambly Basin, a small lake of perhaps two miles in diameter, feeds the narrow band of river to the north where we were headed. The winds had piped up very dramatically, creating stiff, nasty cresting waves which competed for dominance against the confusion of the boat wakes…and there were boats, scores and scores of boats, all being driven either at that particular speed before planning which guarantees the largest possible wake…. or at 70 miles per hour. Nothing in between. Add to this mayhem the whine of jet-skis (some carrying riders), windsurfers and kite-surfers riding and sometimes flying the breeze at easily 30 knots, and even a figure along the shore wearing a jet pack which enabled him to rise above it all on two marbled pillars of water. Biblical, really.
The strong wind, confused and dangerous waves, and cacophony of internal combustion precluded any conversation; eye contact and frantic gestures confirmed that we simply had to row for our lives through it all, which we somehow did, arriving at the narrow continuation of the Richelieu River in relief, amazement…and in hysterics. The Canadians put a lot of livin’ into Canada Day even if living to the next day takes some concentration and effort.

The rest of the day seemed almost anti-climactic; we again enjoyed the current north and a tailwind, enabling Matt to move to SailPlan Revision 3.0 and for us to make great time along waters that bedeviled me three years ago. I recalled a particular point during Row, Canada! that presented Brian and me a particular “all-or-nothing” challenge in the dead of night…a narrow channel under a railroad bridge that required us to row at maximum effort until we could pass, and my memory of the painfully glacial progress we made against the current until we could reach shore prompted me to glance at the Mach Meter as we passed under: 8.1 mph. Give 5 to Matt and me and the rest to the river. Brian, today was a good day to go downstream.

At dusk we pulled into a campground on the eastern shore….two red chairs faced us from the yard across the river, but we saw no sign of anyone….and were given the OK to pitch our tents anywhere and use the facilities just as the mosquitoes began stir for the evening. Two tuna pouches and some Starbucks Mochas saw us to bed on a verdant lawn with the boats bobbing gently in front and threats of “tornado” issuing from the radio.

After the Chambly Basin, we laughed. “Tornado.” What fun.

A View from a Tent......