Detour via Some American Locks

[Kyle]Adding an extra hour to my morning routine for pressure washing, we left Long Sault Provincial Park in time for an early locking down at the American Locks (Eisenhower and Snell).

The bugs followed us for a bit, and then presumably went back to Bogonia's vacated spot. Whew!

By the time we got to Eisenhower, our first lock of the pair, the wind was blowing between fifteen and twenty knots. The Pleasure Boat Waiting Dock at the lock has a very narrow dredged area that leads a dock that is only big enough for a single vessel, rather raggedy and shorter than about 18 meters. The dock is placed there as a safety measure to put a big wall of concrete between us and any ship that may be having control difficulties. It is common for less maneuverable ships to "slide the wall" to get into the locks, or while leaving, until they can get some steerageway.

Maryanne went to the phone box and found only cobwebs, the phone had been replaced by a note saying there was no phone, use the radio. I wish we had known that before we threaded the needle to get into the dock. I called the lock keeper who told us to standby, the wait will be about twenty minutes.

Exactly twenty minutes later, he called and told us to cast off and proceed into the lock. This is where the fun started.

There are many things I like about Begonia's stability and handling ability. Backing her up is most definitely not one of them. Even on a flat calm day with no wind whatsoever, she is almost impossible to back up in a straight line. After starting out okay, she'll start to curve off course. The only way to get her straightened out again is to take one engine out of gear or maybe put it in forward. Add a strong wind and a fairway that is not as wide as Begonia is long and you can get some really tense moments trying to avoid rusty bolts and rebar sticking out of the concrete. This is where Maryanne usually saves the day with a fender in one hand and a boat hook in the other. She didn't actually end up needing either today, but it was close enough that she did have to run back and forth a lot.

Back in forward, everything was just fine again. A Grackle joined us and did his best to pick us clean of the remaining bug carcasses along the way. I really like those birds. We maneuvered into the lock and Maryanne was able to drop our bow and stern line loops over the floating bollard nested in a groove in the lock wall without any drama. The lock keeper collected our ticket (we prepaid online and printed the receipt) with an envelope attached to a string. After verifying that we were legit, he returned to the control house to start emptying the lock.

Eisenhower Dock - we always feel a bit guilty with our little boat when the locks are clearly made for giants of the St. Lawrence.

As we were exiting, he told us there was no need for us to rush to the Snell lock because the ship three miles in front of us was just entering it now. Before we could go through, the ship would have to go down, exit, and then the lock would have to be refilled for us.

From a distance, we watched the much larger ship enter the lock, and then it's hull and half the bridge sank below our level. I figured it would take them ten minutes to clear the lock and another ten to refill it and adjusted our speed accordingly. In the end, we only needed to drift in idle for about three minutes before we were given the green lights.

We repeat the process at Snell Lock. Since we departed from a Canadian port/anchorage and will next stop at a Canadian port/anchorage, there is no need to clear customs to 'enter' the USA while using the locks - that saves a step or two!

When the doors opened, we emerged into Lake St. Francis at 48.5 meters above sea level, 25.3 meters below where we had started our morning.

The next leg to our anchorage went much faster than usual, thanks to a three to five knot current. I had originally thought we would have time for an hour or so of slow sailing, but by the time we had shut down the engines, we only had time enough for four minutes of quiet, engine-free sailing. We still did it. One and a half knots through the water, five over the bottom under bare poles.

We managed to duck out of the channel just before an oncoming ship and anchored in the little bay by the town of Glen Walter. Yep, it's so small, it was named after the guy who lives there.

Some relaxed time at Glen Walter

We seemed to be free of the insects, which allowed us to leave the cabin door open for the afternoon. The wind picked up through the evening, which seemed to keep any stragglers away. The next morning, I blasted the last of the dried dead off and we finally had a properly clean boat again.

As the wind finally started to die off the next afternoon, we couldn't help but notice a lot of fluttering specks were starting to surround us again. This time, they seem to be Caddis flies (I hate that I'm turning into an expert on flying insects). Caddis flies are more numerous than the Mayflies we had in the last anchorage, but at least they don't leave little green stains behind when their time with us is over.

It has since occurred to me that, many years ago, when I would fly over the St. Lawrence Seaway and think to myself, "We've got to take the boat there someday", from way up there, I could not see any of the swarms and swarms of bugs floating through the area.

Speaking of bugs, we moved anchorage again to get us a little closer to Montreal. This time, we chose a spot to drop the hook that was deliberately far from shore, and particularly any large areas of foliage upwind. The plan worked great…is not the thing I was about to say next. I am really starting to grow weary of having my life dominated by the constant need to blast away piles and piles of tiny freeloaders.

Regardless, we had two days of heavy rain and strong wind in the forecast, to which I was very much looking forward. In the meantime, though, we had another afternoon of calm we could use to do some exploring in the kayak.

With our kayak, we took the too-shallow-for-Begonia route along the mainland Ontario shore as a way of avoiding most of the adverse current. We saw the whole range of homes, docks, and boathouses, from condemned ruins to posh estates that to my eye looked like someone was trying just a little too hard to impress the rest of us.

Passing by a little marina with chairs and tables set up outside, we stopped in to give our backsides a break and to see if they had a little cafe, or at least some snacks for sale.

Alas, they did not. They had a cooler full of every type of live bait you could want, but their ice cream freezer was completely empty and full of room-temperature air, indicating that it had been so for a while. This made no sense. The big, season-opening weekend was last week, which was a hot one. Even if they had ice cream then, there should have at least been the dregs leftover of flavors nobody wants, like candy corn or salt and vinegar. They could have at least filled it with bags of ice. Fishoes are always buying bags of ice.

Well, it's probably for the best, anyway. We resumed our paddle without having arteries full of fat and cholesterol.

After a few more minutes, we reached the bridge connecting the mainland to Hamilton Island. There, it was clear the current was churning through, and we had to both paddle hard to keep moving forward through the gap. We rounded adjacent Renshaw Island and turned into the deep water channel. Now, when we weren't even paddling, we slid by the scenery at three-and-a-half to four knots on the way back to Begonia. We have both been impressed by how fast the springtime has progressed. Only a few weeks ago, when we were anchored in Pennsylvania, we were the only boat there amongst forests of bare, dormant trees. Now, everything is bursting with green.

Also noticeable is that it is the height of gosling season. The little fluffballs seem to outnumber the adults. We saw one pair that still had fourteen following them around. In another spot, a dozen adults seem to have left thirty or forty of the group's goslings under the care of one 'Auntie'.

We had another chance to potter about in the kayak at Cameron's point and the islands just off it

We had a couple of really windy, rainy days. The weather kept the files away from every part of the boat except the cockpit, where they were able to frolic in the dry in the lee of the cabin. Overnight, most of them would die and we would wake to find the cockpit covered in a stubble that was actually millions of little wings. Yeesh! I had no choice but to step on them on the way to the stern to get the many buckets of water I would need to rinse them away. My last step was to power wash the soles of my shoes before going back inside.

After the rain cleared, we set off for the anchorage at Valleyfield, which is just upstream of the Beauharnois Locks. This time, the wind was a bit too far forward to use the spinnaker, but still enough to the side that we could sail on various reaching angles without having to tack at all. The new sails are working out great. The only problem was when we hoisted them. Tens of thousands of little bug carcasses fluttered down like so many snowflakes, covering our just-rinsed decks. Ugh…Rinse, repeat.

When we got to Valleyfield, a police boat approached us and told us the harbor was closed for the next five hours,come back then, as if we lived just around the corner. Maryanne asked if it would be okay to tie to the adjacent public dock. The two officers conferred for a minute and then told us that would be perfect, as long as we were out of the way there and not in the bay. Baie St. Francois has a big fountain in the middle and we just happened to arrive on the day they send divers down to hook it up and turn it on for the season.

The public dock has gone through some management changes lately. Once, it was free. Then it was free for three hours, with a $2/ft charge to stay overnight. When we arrived, the notice board said it was free from 0800-2200, with a $1.70/ft charge to stay overnight. We liked the free option, but we wanted to explore the town and do a really big provision, so we decided to stay at the dock the first night.

It was a good thing we did. We were heading to the convenient and very local medium grocery store when a local told us about a much more comprehensive store just a little farther away that hadn't popped up on google maps.

Two things happened when we arrived there: First was that we saw that it was huge, with an especially good produce section. Second, we noticed there seemed to be no anti-theft devices on their carts.

Knowing we could wheel the carts beyond the boundry of the parking lot caused Maryanne to go a little nuts. While all of the other patrons were using little mini-carts that were basically elevated hand baskets with wheels, Maryanne and I each grabbed the biggest version that the store had and headed inside. We then spent the next few HOURS filing them until we could get no more on top of each pile without new items sliding off.

At the checkout, there was only one lane open, including the Express Line. The patrons who joined the queue after us with their tiny carts containing only a dinner's worth of wine, a baguette, and a wheel of cheese made no effort to hide their displeasure when they saw Maryanne shoving armloads of food onto the belt and me at the other end furiously stuffing the growing pile into bags.

Ordinarily, this is when we would have to repack everything into our own carts and backpacks, but Maryanne had another plan: We were taking the shopping carts home with us.

To get there, we had to cross through a traveling carnival (fun fair) that was being set up. The zigzagging through wasn't a problem, but all of the big power cables crisscrossing the place kept slamming the carts to an abrupt halt when the front wheels hit. Then, we would have to help each other lift the carts over the obstruction. At the worst spot, a few carnies saw us and came over to help lift. It was heart-warming and terrifying in equal amounts.

It was nice to have something to carry the weight, but a four hundred pound shopping cart does not want to roll straight on uneven surfaces, requiring quite a lot of wrestling to keep them on the sidewalk. By the time we had made it back to Begonia, we were tired from both the hours in the store and the workout we got getting our booty home. Then, of course, everything needed to be lifted aboard, sorted, and stowed. Maryanne started digging through the pile while I took the now featherlight carts back to the store. Then I walked back without carrying anything! I felt so decadent.

Afterward, we looked at each other and agreed that we were in no mood to do any more walking today and that it was good we had decided to stay the night at the dock.

The town of Salaberry-de-Valleyfield was pleasant with numerious parks and shaded waterfront paths along the old canals and current waterways. We were able to enjoy some lovely long walks

The next day, rejuvenated, we enjoyed a nice, hours-long walk along the rivers and canals in the area. At the end, we went to see the adjacent marina about paying, as they are now handling the billing for the public docks. Maryanne had been unable to use the online system the information board at the dock had directed, and despite sending an email asking them to call us so we could pay, we had yet to see any reply, so Maryanne wanted to just divert to the end of the point to pay at the office.

After a bit of confusion, we were told the reason she had no luck was because we needed to call and make a reservation before making the same reservation again online. Also, there's no way in the system to make a reservation for yesterday, so they would have to make one for today instead.

"What if I show up at 9:30pm, when you are closed, and want to make a reservation using the instructions on the sign at the dock?" Maryanne asked.

"Oh, you should call and make a reservation first."

"But what if we didn't know we were coming?"

"Why would you not know you're coming?"

"Never mind."

After a bit more back and forth, it was agreed that since we made a reservation and paid for tonight, we could stay until tomorrow now. Honestly, I doubt anybody checks, particularly this early in the season. We probably could have stayed a week without them knowing there was anybody at the public dock to charge. That is unless of course you call and make a reservation first.

{Maryanne:We are now definately in the French part of Canada. While most people do seem to speak English, all the signs are in French only, and we are making good use of our basic French and (even more so) the Google Translate app which allows us to point the camera at anything and have it convert the text to English before our eyes!}

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Iroquois Lock and Upper Canada Village

[Kyle]We left our anchorage just upstream of the Iroquois Lock in time to make it there by 7am. Knowing that they open to pleasure boat traffic only from 8am and they want us to be there an hour before we want to lock through so they have time to prepare and issue instructions (commercial shipping can go through twenty-four hours a day). Although they had a pre-opening of the Montreal to Lake Ontario (MLO) section of the St. Lawrence Seaway the weekend before, the official Opening Day was today. Having been the first down-bound boat through the Welland Canal, I wanted to keep our status at least to the beginning of the MLO section. The boating season was rapidly unfolding and it may be our last chance to be the only boat around for a while.

After tying to the waiting-dock, Maryanne walked up to call the lock keeper on the phone provided there for the purpose, that turned out to be a cobweb filled empty box so she just used her mobile phone; returning to say we would be going through in about half an hour. We would be first!

When the time came, the lock doors opened and we were summoned on the radio and told to cast off. Inside the lock, as we approached the "line handler", he told us there was no need for us to take lines. Keep on moving. Just as he finished his sentence, the lower doors started to open. Wow. Hadn't felt a thing. From the waterline on the lock chamber walls, it looked like we had gone down all of about ten centimeters.

Iroquois Lock was so easy were wern't even required to secure to the wall for the tiny drop

Maryanne asked the line handler if any boats had gone through the previous, pre-opening, weekend. He said he hadn't been working those days, so he didn't know.

What is she doing!? This is one of those situations where more information is not better. We were first. That's all we need to know. Good Day, Sir!

Due to the specifics of our insurance policy, we now have three weeks to kill before we can leave Montreal and still be covered. That means the race is now over. We can feel free to wish every boat that overtakes us a "Bon Voyage" and feel happy for them as they disappear ahead of us.

Leaving the lock, we were now technically in Lake St Lawrence, which is a reservoir with dams at each end. We had a look back at the upstream dam, which has a "small boat passage" where vessels less than 3.6 meters high can bypass the Iroquois Lock if they have the power to handle the current and they are willing to assume the risk. The dam is basically a series of lifting doors along its entire width. The small boat passage is the last one, closest to the lock. This day, ALL of the doors were open and we could see no perceptible difference in height between sides. Once we left the bypass channel for the lock, we did find the one to two-knot current we had with us previously returning.

Our first stop in the lake was at the public dock in Morrisburg, Ontario. This was particularly fortunate since it is one of the few places along the seaway with a propane refilling station within walking distance. We had coincidentally emptied one of our propane tanks whilst cooking last night's dinner. Since we were already out on foot, we also made a grocery run, a run to a filling station for a jug of diesel, and then a second grocery run for stuff we hadn't had space for the first time.

When we were done with all of that, we had a walk around the tidy little town just to enjoy its gardens and architecture. Then, a little later on, we did it again, just because it was a lovely day for a walk. At the end of the day, our phones told us we had each clocked up about twenty kilometers. Honestly, it had been such a pleasant day and since we had spread it all out a bit, we had hardly felt any of them. Luckily, there is an ice-cream stand right at the parking lot adjoining the waterfront. With us there, I believe Begonia, only about fifty steps away, was the closest residence to it in the whole town.

Morrisburg was a nice stop over and we were able to top up fresh provisions and get some propane (no urgent need, but good to have)

All freshly provisioned and refueled, we left the next morning for Crysler Park Marina, a mere five miles down the lake. My main reason for doing this was so that we would have a chance to see nearby Upper Canada Village.

Maryanne wasn't so sure. While she loves museums and other such tourist attractions, she really resents having to fork over some of our limited budget to stay in marinas. This is especially true since transient rates at most marinas are basically what residents pay for half a month. That, plus we never need to hook up to their electricity, makes a stay seem like even less of a value. Then add to that the fact that the marina just opened for the season yesterday and few of their amenities were yet operational. The Ship's Store was closed (the ice cream freezers were empty!), the pool had no water in it, the barbecue areas had no tables or cooking gas, and the air-conditioned Captain's Lounge was in "coming soon" status. This situation was not helped when Maryanne, after finally gritting her teeth and calling to make a reservation, had to listen to voicemail menu options for a minute and forty seconds before the part about how to speak to the staff arrived. The woman was sweet, but new. Not understanding what exactly a catamaran is, she offered that the transient rate must be not per foot, but per square foot.

"That would be over fourteen hundred dollars per night!" Maryanne observed.

"Canadian!" I added, "After the exchange rate, we should come in under a thousand U.S." Maryanne shot me a look that indicated that she thought I was not being as helpful as I felt. On the other side of the phone was a long pause of dead air.

"That can't be correct," Maryanne continued, "The rates are generally per night or more commonly per foot."

"Try per meter" I whispered. It was Canada after all, but I was dismissed with a wave of her hand.

After some back-and-forth, Maryanne was finally able to convince the woman that the general convention for marinas was to charge per length of the vessel and sign us up accordingly. Even so, the rate was still a bit high. Maryanne was keen to try to stay for only one night, other than the two I had suggested. I wasn't going for it, because I knew she would still want to do the same amount of stuff, just in half the time. She finally relented when I reminded her that staying two nights included two tickets to Upper Canada Village, so it would really only cost us an extra third to stay twice as long.

Since we were here early, and since we now had an extra day, we could spend the rest of the afternoon doing the boat chores we had missed out on in Morrisburg. In this case, our two remaining items were laundry and giving Begonia a wash.

The laundry was not fun. Most of the machines were down. Washing the boat, however, had been gradually sneaking up my Need to Do list for a while. Recently, the situation had become so bad that it had jumped to the very top of my Want to Do list. I couldn't take it anymore.

There are many nice things about cruising in fresh water, but the springtime bug situation is definitely not one of them. Over time, they coat the boat, die, and get smeared all over everything, filling the scuppers with nests of their little carcasses. Several types of birds make morning visits to help clean up, but during the height of each insect species' two-week swarm season, the birds are outnumbered. While Maryanne dealt with the laundry, it was up to me to get rid of them.

It took me four hours, much of it on my hands and knees, to render Begonia completely clean and bug-free. Maryanne arrived shortly thereafter with a cartful of fresh laundry and after a couple of showers each, we were feeling quite civilized again.

The next morning, we were up early for the scenic four kilometer walk to Upper Canada Village.

Upper Canada Village was created in 1959 as a living museum depicting life in the 1860s for early pioneers. Almost all of the period buildings were moved to the site from various nearby valley villages - all of which would otherwise have been demolished in preparation for the scheduled flooding of this area, required for the 'new' St. Lawrence Seaway.

I have only been to a few living museums before, most notably Colonial Williamsburg in the USA. Upper Canada Village is much more extensive and very well done. It took us no time at all to realize there was no way we could have squeezed in a visit AND done all of the stuff we had done yesterday in a single day. There is so much to see and it is all genuinely fascinating.

The thing that kept occurring to me over and over is that we as a society could really stand to relearn so many of the 19th Century skills being presented. Looking, as a member of a culture where almost all of our stuff is mass-produced far away, as cheaply as possible, with the intent that we're going to toss it out in a year or two and buy another, and we're going to do it over and over and over again for the rest of our lives, to the era of our Great Great Grandparent's generation was eye-opening. Stuff the artisan/presenters in the village produce takes a lot longer for them to make, but quite frankly, it's nicer stuff. Back then, people built things to last, or at least be regularly repairable, for the rest of your life, with the expectation that you wold eventually pass them on to your kids. There is no need to devise a machine that will churn out four hundred crappy buckets an hour when a tinsmith can make enough good ones for the whole village in a few days and then be done with it, apart from replacing the occasional lost or broken one. And all of this was being done with hand tools or power from flowing water, using almost no extra energy at all, apart from the blacksmith, who had a coal fire. It seems that this ethic we have created where enough isn't really enough and we will fail if we don't constantly grow market share and expand into new territory and push and push and push for more and more and more isn't going to be sustainable forever. The knowledge and skills being preserved in places like Upper canada Village could someday end up being our salvation.

The marina and the Upper Canada Village at opposite ends of the same park (mostly campsites for RVs, all empty for now) and we were not the only ones walking that day. A narrow-guage train line used to connect the two, but had buckled back in 2022 (due to extreme summer heat) and there is no expecation of repairs any time soon - so the old steam train the "Grand Turk" stands alone behind fencing, unvisted by most

Upper Canada Village transports us back to the homes and businesses of the 1860's. I especially loved the tinsmith shop. We had a lunch that included cheese and bread made within the complex. We both enjoyed it and were glad we had an early start on the day (the marina had suggested we'd only need a couple of hours). There was even a narrow guage train to keep the kids (and Kyle) entertained

Apart from that, it is a very entertaining place and we can't recommend it enough if you happen to be in the area. Plus, if you come by boat, it's a jolly nice walk from the marina.

From Crysler Park Marina, we had another lovely spinnaker run to Long Sault Provincial Park, where we anchored as the only boat in the big bay between Moulinette, Mille Roches and MacDonnell Islands.

Weather is still at that variable state of the year - you are never quite sure what temperatures and weather to expect each day

My time for stalling was now at an end. I had no more good excuses for not going to the trouble to dig our kayak out of its deep, deep hidey hole and inflate it for at least the next couple of weeks.

We managed not to fall in on our first excursion and, if I do say so myself, managed to look like a pretty well-drilled team as we passed by the holiday makers on their rental kayaks at the adjacent beach.

We were able to get out and about on the Kayak whenever the weather cooperated

The next morning, despite having not the best forecast for it, we were looking forward to a good, long paddle around the park. That all ended when I emerged from bed to find the entire boat was completely covered in dead and dying freshwater flies and the green, smelly goo that seems to be their last gasp. There was no way we could go outside and even make it to where we had stowed the kayak without ending up slipping and sliding on layers of bug goo.

Change of plan: Before we went anywhere, I had to get rid of all the new bugs on my previously clean boat. Now, the Upper Canada solution would be to use load after load of water from a high-quality metal bucket. We only had the low-quality, extruded plastic buckets on board, but we also have something that I must admit I like even better: A pressure washer that uses rechargeable power tool batteries. The stream it produces is not very high in volume, but I can put the pick-up tube in the lake and blast away for half an hour before the battery dies. We have four and they charge faster than that from our solar. Blasting the bugs mostly makes them fly around a lot, but it's still very satisfying. After a while, I was at least able to rid Begonia of the dead and the little pools of green each had left behind.

By the time I was done, really ugly rain clouds were coming over the horizon, so we postponed the kayaking for the day. With luck, the hope was that the rain would keep the new bug numbers down until morning.

That is not how it worked out. In the morning, the bugs were even worse than the day before. We were determined to have a day out, though, so I dug the pressure washer out again and started blasting.

Once I had shooed them off and cleared a clean path to the stern so we could get in the kayak, we pulled our head nets on and dove for the kayak.

We hadn't made it half a boat length from Begonia when the air promptly cleared. We then proceeded on a six-mile, seven-island circumnavigation of a pretty good portion of Long Sault Provincial Park. Along the way, we also passed by the mooring field at Long Sault Yacht Club, where we managed a brief chat with a couple of the boats there.

It was not a good day for sailing, but was perfect for kayaking, with not a breath of wind over the mirror-flat water. We were out for about three hours and not one time did we get harassed by more than a single fly. It was marvelous. Even the boats at the yacht club were all free of a fur of dead flies. I dared hope that their short breeding season had already ended.

It may have everywhere else, but not on Begonia. As soon as we arrived, our motion disturbed thousands of insects that took flight and started swirling around in undulating clouds that followed us as we hurriedly stowed the kayak on deck. This is so unfair. I can't believe I'm saying it, but we could sure use some cold, heavy rain…

And the bugs are doing their best to make hanging out in the cockpit impossible, they seem to especially love the boat and Kyle cleans them off each morning with our mini-pressure washer (otherwise we end up with green bug-slime everywhere and no place to sit)

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Anchorage location >> On google maps