We arrived in Albany after a long drive the evening before and a four-hour sleep at a roadside parking area at the height of land going over Swede mountain about two hours north of the city. I was a little nervous about finding the Corning Reserve, a riverfront park in Albany, which is also the home of the Albany Rowing Center. By the number of shells seen stored there this must be a very active place earlier in the morning. An Irish Carrach club was also using the same facilities and had three Carrachs stored there. OK, for those that are not familiar, a Carrach is a unique Irish rowing vessel rowed by crews of various numbers.  Heather recently brought back pictures of them from her visit to Ireland last May.

After getting acquainted with the site of our launch and seeing two hours on my watch before we expected anyone to be there, I decided to get another hour of sleep in the car.

We had set a date with two TV reporters to cover our launching for the fourth leg of our trip along the route from Key West to Quebec.  A contingent from Albany’s Habitat Affiliate also attended.  After half an hour or more of talking to the cameras and reporters I managed to get our boat all ready for the first leg of our row and tied up to the crew dock.  We said our final goodbyes and pulled away heading upstream toward Troy and the Champlain Canal system.

I rowed slowly and straight away from the TV camera until I saw it get taken down before stopping to fix my feet which were in my two old Birkenstocks bolted to the foot plates in place of the original equipment.  I should have tried this arrangement out before leaving because the Birks were definitely not going to work.  About a mile upstream there was a loud snap as my port strut broke off. So it was determined that we needed to return to the dock for repairs and replacements.  This took about half an hour and we pushed off again more comfortable but we had added two miles to our first leg.

The seven or eight miles along the Hudson I would call the most industrial piece of our trip so far as evidenced by the visual quality of the water.  After leaving the tides behind in passing through the Federal Lock we came ashore at the park on the point where the Erie Canal heads west and the Champlain Canal heads north.

Dave Blackman, a very nice and interesting environmental engineer met us there and drove me to the Admiral’s Marina to find the car. Dave is the executive director of the Rennselaer affiliate of Habitat in Troy. We talked about the upcoming dredging to remove the PCBs dumped in the river for years by a GE plant. This was to be a $680 billion project. Perhaps local people who obviously need it in this depressed region will earn some of this money.  No ticket, no one collecting money, so I drove back to Waterford to find Heather and the boat.

I was proud to remember to say Happy 32^nd Anniversary to Heather on waking up. We were getting better at packing up and it was easy to load our gear into the boat tied between two cleats at the dock instead of unloading at a boat ramp. I realized the value of renting a slip at a marina!  None of the lifting and turning the boat over and carrying the seats and riggers etc. We simply stepped in, untied and rowed away.

Lock 5 came up within a mile and opened for us soon after Heather called its lockmaster. I hardly needed to stop rowing before I was inside the lock.  We were getting to be old hands at this now and behaved as if we knew what we were doing.  I was rowing inside the lock as the gates opened and we squirted out to continue the march upstream. The canal at this point is a flat-water river with negligible current. Long sweeps of fairly consistent growth along the banks were interrupted occasionally by the edge of cornfields with tall cow corn. This was a great place to stay with my pace by the hour and feel the miles tick by.

Lock 6 was, like the others, a welcome chance to rest my oars and get off my seat while holding us off the wall with the boat hook. Heather held the slimy hanging rope as we inspected the growth of Zebra mussels on the wall while the water floated us upward. One of the benefits of going into a lock we found was that it provided cool shade.  We chose the wall toward the sun for this reason. But as the water rose the shade went away and the hot blazing sun returned.

We landed on a public dock just above Lock 7 where we were able to pull the boat up on the dock and tie it down.  The challenge was before me to get a ride back to pick up the car.  After holding out my thumb and holding a $20.00 bill for half an hour I realized that the days of hitchhiking which I had been used to in the fifties was gone by.  I walked into the maintenance base for the New York State Canal Authority across the highway to see if there might be some one there who was driving south when they finished work. After a number of grunts in the negative a really nice fellow, Tim Macinerny, volunteered to give me a ride at 3:30 when he finished.  So I rested for half an hour and soon he appeared to pick me up. After hearing about our trip while riding in his pick-up he asked how we were getting back to lock 7 the next day. He then volunteered to drive the car north in the morning and leave it in Port Anne.  This was to be a tremendous help to us. I must say that all of the Lockmasters and the whole canal system seemed to be very friendly and helpful. It did help that most of them had seen the news coverage on one of the two channels in Albany that had covered our launch there.  Practically everyone we ran into commented that we were “famous”!

Tim Macinerny was true to his word and showed up to take the car north for us at 7:00 a.m. This was a good incentive for us to get going. We put the boat back in the water from where it was resting on top of the floating dock and were on our way while it was still somewhat cool. 

Lock 8 brought us to the top of the canal as the water between Lock 8 and Lock 9 is at the maximum elevation. I am not really sure where this water comes from as in flows out at either end. We started down toward Lake Champlain when going through Lock 9. The rest of the way was all in a dug canal, narrow and straight. The rowing conditions could not have been better. We passed cows drinking on the shore and the trees in many parts hung over far enough to provide shade.

For some reason there is no Lock 10 and if there ever was they have removed every trace of it because we saw nothing that looked like it might have been part of one.  We reached Fort Anne’s floating dock and were pleased to see our car parked there waiting for us. It had become dreadfully hot and carrying the boat off the dock was a bit difficult. We felt much indebted to Tim.

Considering what I thought was slow progress up the Champlain Canal because of the heat and its effect on my energy level, I was amazed to realize that I was on my last leg of the canal portion of our trip. We were going to reach Whitehall’s Lock 12 opening into the Southern reaches of Lake Champlain in six days. On the map it looked like a longer trip. But we were averaging over 12 miles a day and for the first week out that was about right. I was remembering my last few days in Florida in January where 20-25 mile days were done in 60 to 70 degree weather.  With temperatures over 90 in blazing sun water was pouring out of me as fast as I was guzzling Gatorade. My intake of such liquids has been 5-6 quarts in the boat and another gallon on shore!

The trip from the floating dock in Fort Anne up the long straight stretches of dug canal to Whitehall was interrupted only once at Lock 11. I had visited this lock a few months ago when driving by to scout out how it would be to row through the locks. The lockmaster had been very friendly and shown much interest in what we were going to do. But the fellow on duty was not the same one I had met. I had looked forward to seeing the other one again but he will never know we passed.

We arrived in Whitehall passing the recently built visitor center and Navy Museum. Whitehall boasts being the birthplace of the US Navy. But there is nothing else new in Whitehall. Many of the buildings are about to collapse and are unoccupied. There are very few restaurants and shops. We had discovered the day before we rowed in the ice cream at Stewart’s, a convenience store and filling station. This seemed to be the most, if not the only, active business in town.

As Lock 12 opened to let us into Lake Champlain I heard a familiar voice call “Gunnar” several times. We noticed two motorcycles parked a little beyond the ramp at Finch and Chubb’s and the Lock 12 marina. Steve Hagerty and a friend had taken a ride up from Albany and had stop to check on us!  After taking the boat out Steve’s friend loaned his helmet to Heather and Steve took her down to Fort Anne to get our car. This she reported was the scariest ride of her life but she did get back safely.  The motorcyclists left us and we went to search for a camping spot.

We were up at 5:30 a.m. The unhappy campground was quiet. I boiled water for my coffee bag and ate the last yogurt in the cooler. We left the sleeping campers behind, quietly driving out through the maze of roads connecting the campsites. Far too crowded,  I thought. Why drive all the way out here to park next to someone? I began to be persuaded by Heather’s idea that one can always sleep in one’s car in a Wal-Mart or hospital parking lot!  What have I come to? My childhood memories of camping 20 miles from the nearest road out in the Wind River wilderness area guide my vision of ideal camping conditions. Now this.

We arrived at the boat ramp in Whitehall at a good hour. There was still some night time coolness in the air. The lower end of Lake Champlain is indistinguishable from a river. It was hardly wider than the canal. Making good time through a wildlife preserve with many ospreys and extensive marshes on the shores, we made it to Chipman’s point just short of Fort Ticonderoga by 2:30 p.m. This was our longest day so far covering 19.27 miles.  Here we found a small marina housed in a very old stone house dating back to the early 1800s.

We were out of the slip at Chipman’s Point Marina by 7:15 and headed up the lake on flat water.  The mountains on the New York side rise up out of the water abruptly leaving no possibility of stopping along that shore. So we committed to the VT shore for the time being. There were no winds to worry about anyway. 

I watched the shapes of the mountains gradually disappear in the haze as my puddles reached their vanishing point astern.  Rowing unobstructed with no worry about other boats, buoys, or obstructions is a sculler’s dream.  I almost fall asleep swinging along in a mesmerized state.  Two hours of non-stop rowing went by before I decided to rest my seat and lie back on the pile of boat cushions and PFDs I had built as my resting place. A nice new bumper we had purchased at the Schuler Yacht Basin was positioned perfectly as lumbar support. The folded oar bag was my pillow in the bow. With my fisherman’s hat set on top of my face it was possible to doze off completely for a few minutes.  Such rests became more frequent as the day went on, the temperature climbed and my endurance between rests decreased.  Consumption of water and Gatorade also increased. My tan is getting about as dark as I ever remember it being but I am not burned.

I had called Margaret Carothers, Executive Director of the Addison County Habitat Affiliate, to alert her that we were approaching. She had agreed to meet us, help us retrieve the car and take us in for the night at their farm in New Haven, VT near Middlebury.  We called from the boat to tell her that we would be at the Chimney Point boat ramp near the eastern end of the Champlain Bridge. She arrived shortly after we did and took me off to find Chipman’s point and the car. She gave me directions to Nash Farm where she and her husband, Peter, lived.

After picking up Heather and the boat, stopping for a huge homemade ice cream at the not-to-be-missed Bridge End restaurant, we drove the half hour inland to find Nash Farm.  It was a really charming old farmhouse, beautifully landscaped and positioned on the side of the New Haven River a clear stream we immediately found ourselves swimming in. Lolling in the current holding onto a snag of wood was great therapy for an over heated body. Toby and Ruby, their two dogs joined us and swam for the sticks and stones thrown out for them to retrieve.  The healthy smell of the cornfields and farmland around us was wonderful. This countryside was very different from our New Hampshire home but I must admit, almost as nice.

We returned to the house to help with the preparation of an excellent and elegantly presented meal of steak and homegrown vegetables.  We met their son who ran a landscaping business and nursery on the farm.  His lively and healthy attitude toward life was refreshing and reminded us of our own children who we hope are as happy with what they are doing as he.   He feigned not being interested in joining us for dinner but piece-by-piece finished the portion he would have been served as we talked to him. I was very impressed by the relationship he had with his fine parents.  As the conversation progressed we discovered that we shared very close friends, Happy and Clark Griffiths, as well as many interests. Peter is a consulting engineer who is an internationally recognized expert designing systems for the recovery of methane gas from landfills, coal mines and the like and gave me some interesting insights into the economics of recycling this potential source of energy. I have had an interest in the systems used in China and India for digesting human waste and producing energy to light and heat homes for some time. This seems to me a far more sensible solution than what we do in the U.S. with our sewage.

We woke early and snuck away from the Carothers’s hospitality to find our way back to Chimney Point to launch. Another perfect day as we headed straight up the lake past Crown Point and a huge International Paper Plant with droning machinery and tall stacks spewing the odor of sulphites.  This did act as a convenient stern mark to steer by, however. It gradually disappeared in the haze it produced and the smell was replaced by our concerns about the infestation of several invasive species of water plants that have practically ruined much of the shoreline of Lake Champlain. 

Water Chestnuts had been the predominant culprit south of Chipman’s point They were being harvested and taken ashore but apparently the traditional VT farmer was not accepting them as a soil amendment. We heard that they had been dumped in a cattle field in New York and the cows had come and devoured them with no ill effects but the dairy farmers had still not accepted them as a source of low cost cattle feed.  Either use looks like a solution to the problem they create.

Milfoil seems like a far worse problem as it is a perennial and fragments to reproduce. It is ugly, pervasive and ruins beaches and shoreline for use either for swimming or boating.  I saw miles of shoreline pass by with many nice houses on the waterfront looking out over the green slime extending several hundred yards off shore.  I strongly suspect that the septic systems of these houses are allowing nutrients into the lake that support its growth. More than likely these older houses have not changed their old five-gallon toilets to more efficient ones that would reduce the flow toward the lake. I thought about the reasons that got me into the business of promoting low consumption toilets resulting in my eventual career with TOTO USA. It was clear that the campaign has hardly begun to reduce the effects of our homes and camps on the water environment. I am proud to have been part of it but wonder if we can ever get mankind to come to its senses and make significant progress to restore what is already destroyed.

We kept passing possible take out places as shown on the chart until we finally came to a ramp at a place marked as Cedar Beach. I saw no beach. Neither did I see any “Private, Keep Out” signs on or near the ramp.  I was hot and exhausted after 17 miles. Heather’s mother and the friend she was staying with in Colchester were coming to pick us up here.  We took the boat out and carried all of the gear to a neat pile in the shade near the road and parking lot at the top of the ramp.  Being concerned that the ladies might not find us I walked up the small road coming down and met a fellow who was moving a boat. He said that although this was a private colony he thought no one would object to our taking out and getting picked up here. He pointed out that there was a public landing in the bay we had just passed a mile back. He offered to give me a ride to it to see if the ladies had ended up looking for us there.  There was no sign of them but I asked him to leave me there so that I could spot them coming in.  I waited five minutes and sure enough the appeared having been driving around looking for us. They drove me back to the boat and then left with Heather to go to Chimney Point to fetch our car.  I then fell asleep in the shade. Apparently some of the residents walked bay and saw this tired old man lying on the side of the road in their private surrounds and called the manager of the place. I was not aware of this until Heather came back and we were in the middle of loading up the boat and our gear. An older man approached and asked if we were associated in any way with the colony. We explained that we were not but we had seen the ramp on the NOAA chart and thought that it was OK to land.  He did not want to hear any more from us and told us residents had complained and we were to get our selves and our boat out immediately. This was rather obviously what we were doing. 

The feeling of unwelcome that we received was quite upsetting to both of us.  It raises in my mind the question of the rights of any distressed sea or lake farers traveling along a shore. Has our species become so possessive of the shoreline as to turn away travelers in distress?  I was not, to be sure, in distress. Rather I was in a stupor of blissful tiredness. But I was close to exhaustion when I landed. What if a storm had come up? What if I had been injured somehow?  I find it hard to believe that shoreline ownership justifies the exclusion of travelers in distress.  I was not arriving in some loud smoking offensive powerboat spilling a rainbow of fuel on their “beach”.  I guess I believe that property owners need to have the sense to distinguish between intruders in need and those simply in want.

We left Cedar Beach Colony with no interest in ever returning much less meeting any of its residents!  I do believe that the charts should remove their boat ramp and show the public ones only.

We arose early and headed back to the public launch area maintained by the VT Dept of Wildlife Management near Cedar Beach. Arriving there we noted that the trees were bent over and whitecaps were forming on the bay where it was located.  It looked like it would be difficult to row against and across this to get back on our course toward Burlington, VT. We decided to drive around to another ramp further up the lake to see what conditions were like. From there it did not look quite so bad. We determined that we should go back to the original landing and try to make it out of that bay and around. We returned to find the wind even stronger. A ferry across to the New York side of the lake was due to leave at 9:30 from not very far away. We decided to get on it and take a look at conditions on the other side of the lake. We also had been told to contact a reporter over there that was interested in covering our story. 

On the other side of the lake the wind was just as bad. We called the reporter and had a telephone interview sitting in the car. This was going to be our first “weather day” of the trip. We decided to return to VT by the next ferry north that would bring us back to the center of Burlington.  From the ferry deck I watched two to three foot waves and new we had decided wisely.  I have never chosen to put my self in harms way when I knew there were alternatives.  I had no motivation to take such chances.

We had been warned that the local TV station in Burlington might want to cover our story and if so would call us and come and film us at the boat launch on the Burlington waterfront.  We waited for the call and decided that just in case they did call we would go to the location they would want to meet with us at the waterfront. We waited there while I talked on the phone to several other media representatives and returned messages I had not heard for several days. Not having heard from the TV station and seeing no break in the weather pattern we decided to return to our home for a few days until things changed.

On return home I assessed the damage done to my blueberry crop by our resident black bear. I am afraid that he and his many wild turkey friends had not left me any of the blueberries I had hoped to gorge on when we returned.

Now it has been a full five days since we landed at unfriendly Cedar Beach and it is time to return to take up the voyage where we left it. We are still ahead of the estimated schedule I had made with only about 60 more miles to go to get to the Canadian Border.

Winds from the north had been predicted in the 1-5mph range. This sounded quite tame and we were not hesitant to put in at VT Fish and Wildlife’s ramp on Converse Bay, a mile south of the unfriendly place where we had taken out five days ago. The water was flat. We had to wash off the mud that coated everything on our trailer after driving through the rain the night before. This took an hour and our departure time was delayed much too long.  Rowing out of Converse bay to join the route where we had come north was calm and protected.  Then as we rounded the point to head north toward Burlington I found myself rowing into a pretty strong headwind that had had time to build up some sizable waves.  Rowing straight into it was OK in that we were still averaging 4 mph but it was taking a toll on my hands since the rough water forces one to grip the oar handle tighter. I was, for the first time on this trip, starting to feel some blisters developing. 

Soon we crossed the bow of the ferry from Essex, NY. I could feel that its captain was somewhat concerned about our proximity but I was confident that I had plenty of room to spare. I took twenty strokes for power and we had ample clearance.

After rowing 5 miles without a rest we pulled into the shelter of Quaker Smith point where Heather had seen a log we could hold onto and have a rest. She tied us up in this calm, restful place and I lay back on my pile of boat cushions and PFDs for a comfortable nap. All such rests come to an end, however. 

As we reentered the upwind struggle I could see the hazy shape of Juniper Island, just off the opening to Burlington Bay. This was my new destination. While rowing sometimes I judge my distance by the amount of haze or smog between me and my destination or the landmark I have passed. I enjoy seeing these landmarks passed disappear in this haze. It is almost as satisfying as seeing them sink below the horizon as some of the bridges I had passed in Florida did when I rowed away from them. If I were looking ahead I would probably be motivated by them rising up from the horizon.

In about 11 miles we passed Juniper ledge and I could now see the Burlington waterfront.

Turning slightly Eastward I was no longer rowing straight into the wind. Larger waves were regularly contributing a gallon or two to our bilge. Heather sat there with the bailing pump between her knees trying to keep ahead of it. She did admirably and our confidence in what size waves this boat could handle was rising considerably. I had looked at water like this before and judged that it would swamp us quickly. We were doing just fine in 1-foot waves. Just a note to those who are not familiar with wave measurement: 1-foot waves are those that have crests 1 foot above the water level when calm. This means that there is a 2 foot difference between crest and trough. The height of our gunwale in the middle of our boat is about six inches but because the boat’s curvature with higher clearance at both ends we seem to be able to ride through the waves without water coming in until they reach about 2 feet.

The last three miles into Burlington Bay had been exhausting because each stroke was different. Waves and wakes of varying sizes and directions made me adjust each stroke separately. There was none of the repetitive rhythm of the days on the canal and the calm miles on the narrow lower end of the lake where lightly gripped oar handles and the  flat water with my line of dwindling puddles off the stern would hypnotize me into a relaxed state.  There had been no chance for such relaxation during the entire 15.4 miles of this day and the mileage did not take into account a 10-15 mph wind that would have caused us to drift back at least 6 miles if I had not been rowing! So I think this was one of the longer rows of this trip and I was much relieved to pass behind the seawall in Burlington and enter calm waters passing the moored yachts, dinner cruise ships and ferries. As we approached the ramp we saw David Mullin of Green Mt. Habitat get out of his minivan and come down to meet us. Soon a photographer named Glenn from the Burlington Free Press arrived saying he had caught us coming in. After a few questions and discussion with David we took the boat out and David took me back to the Converse Bay access point.

Passing the road out to Cedar Beach where we had been given our only unwelcome of the trip I had to wonder if they were enjoying their privacy or just their pride of ownership.

When I returned to pick up Heather I noticed a spout for a hose connection and took the opportunity to hose off the mud from the night before that had coated our boat trailer. It felt good to spray clean water on myself as well. We have not had a day when the temperature had not reached the mid eighties. My brown leathery skin is proof.

We decided that the forecast of South winds the next day meant we should swap sides of the lake and restart in Fort Douglass, NY to follow the wind up to Plattsburgh. So we went to eat dinner at the Icehouse next to the ferry dock. This was pleasant and gave us a view of the harbor. At about 6:30 we pulled into the ferry line parking lot and were soon approached by a very healthy and strong looking lady on a bicycle that asked if she had seen us this morning down by the Essex ferry. It soon turned out that she was the captain of the ferry we had crossed in front of. She said she had turn off her course a little but that she had not been concerned. We talked to Lea Coggio for the hour we waited for the ferry and it turned out she had some very similar interests. She was a kayaker, cyclist, world traveler and most of all an athlete. She said she might join us on the water in her kayak later in the week. I fully expect that she will! And with her upper body strength she will probably keep up with ease.

The Port Dover waterfront park has the most modern boat ramp and best-maintained facility we have seen anywhere. It is also at the very same latitude to within a hundredth of a second of arc as the Burlington ramp! So we are continuing our trip northward from the New York side of the lake.

The South winds predicted came up rapidly as we crossed them for about two miles getting out to the end of Trembleau Point where we could turn straight down wind and let them follow us.  This first stretch was probably the most difficult I have done. The height of waves is dependent on the fetch or distance from where they start building up. These waves came from beyond the horizon down in the southern end of Lake Champlain. 

We made the turn off to the North and the waves were close to the maximum we could handle. It was to be another test of the boat’s seaworthiness. I was passing beautifully. The crests of each wave were right at the top of the gunwales as they passed under us.  Heather’s rise and fall with each wave was quite remarkable. But her hands on the pump were not as active as I had anticipated.

We approached about 500 cormorants sitting on the water about 100 yards ahead and as we came closer they all took off together and formed a nearly opaque bird cloud as they flew up and around to settle again on the water behind us. I wondered about their congregation. Was this a fishing party? Convention? Preparation meeting before migration?

After passing Port Kent where we had come in by ferry we were now off the chart we had used from the beginning of the trip and on the Northern Lake Champlain chart. These little changes seem like big milestones going by as we plunged from one wave to another occasionally sending out a froth of white as we sank into a new trough. Sometimes this would feel like a sudden stop in our progress. We reached a maximum speed of 7.3 mph on this rushing course where stopping or turning were not options. The large mass of Valcour Island was becoming clearer in the haze and a small point on it created a small bay protected from the South winds on the North side.  We approached the end of the point and pulled into its shelter with some relief. A beautiful flat calm cove with sandy beach and a picnic table on shore welcomed us. We pulled ashore and got out in soft sand. This was a great place to rest and have lunch. I walked the trail across the point to a similar beach that would have the same role in a North wind. Several Canadian sailboats were anchored in our cove and we met some people from Montpelier, VT who had sailed in from Charlotte.

After the best midday rest of the trip we set out and headed North toward a cluster of masts which had to be the harbor at Plattsburgh. The five or six miles went quickly and we made our arrival just in time to meet with a reporter from WPTZ TV and another from the Plattsburg Press Republican. I felt pretty scruffy talking to these people and answering questions about where we had started and where we were headed.  It occurred to me that they should be asking these questions of the powerboat operators going around circles kicking up big wakes to smash their boats into or the people driving Seadoos.  To me it was obvious that we had an origin and a destination. I spoke about the publicity purpose of the trip in calling attention to TOTO’s contribution of toilets to Habitat for Humanity and the good work that Habitat was doing.  But I think it was clear to them that here was a guy who was having a lot of fun and getting healthier every stroke of the way.

We had not been able to reach anyone from the Champlain Valley Habitat Affiliate so there was no choice than to find a taxi to take one of us back to Port Douglass. We unloaded the boat and pulled it up the beach near the ramp. The bartender at the Naked Turtle, a restaurant next to the ramp called a taxi and Heather took the ride to the car.  A radio reporter who had not been there at 3:00 I thought might show up looking for me but he never did. I waited the hour or so for Heather to return drinking Gatorade to replenish the liquid I had lost on our windy 16.68 mile journey which has resulted in my increased confidence in being able to survive much choppier weather than I had previously believed.

After two adventurous days in the wind we decided to sit this one out and catch up with business and writing the log. The day started with a conference call at 7:30. I have pretty much stayed in front of my laptop all day. The wind howled outside according to Heather who took a long walk while I worked.

At 5:30 we went for a drive to the North to check out where we might land. There were a few options and we reserved a campsite for the night.

After a productive day off sitting out the wind in our Microtel room answering email and writing I felt well rested and the winds were “light and variable”.  I haven’t really figured out what that really means but it definitely varied from dead calm to 6” chop. I started rowing across the bay from Plattsburgh at 8:30 a.m.  I did not stop rowing until 11:00 when Heather said I had been 9.2 miles. I think that was probably the longest stretch I have rowed without stopping. The first 3 miles I was rowing across a North wind. When I turned into it but it was not bad at all. A light headwind is cooling and pleasant.

One stretch of coast after another passed by and faded into the haze. Intriguing reflections from the water astern made islands and points of land seem to be floating above the horizon before they set like the sun. I am convinced that the world is round!

We had planned to stop at a beach near the campsite we had reserved for the night. I saw it come up and rowed by since it was not even noon and I felt stronger than ever. The next boat ramp about seven miles further up the coast also passed by off the port side. It was an obvious choice that we should keep going and finish the trip at the Quebec border.

I watched the Adirondack Mountains on the right and the Green Mountains on my left now in one frame of vision. This was a satisfying view. I was north of both headed for Canada. Some day I will return to continue from the border and row to Quebec City. Perhaps I will see them drop below the horizon as they rose from the horizon on the way north.

We reached Rouses Point, NY at about 3:30 p.m. and looked north into Canada and the beginning of the Richelieu River that leads down to the St. Lawrence. We were tempted to spend the next three days continuing our march northward. We even bought the Canadian chart for the Richelieu. But after having to hire a taxi to get back to our car and hearing the long term forecast for rain, we decided that reaching our planned destination a week earlier than expected was good enough for this trip. Again I am frustrated because I feel like rowing more and just keeping up the process of getting stronger and healthier.  I feel much stronger now and Heather says I am “buff”, whatever that means!

So this trip ends with a record day, 25.5 miles into the wind with no assisting currents or tides.  I actually feel like I could have gone further.  I don’t want to sound like a commercial but the effects of the Red Bull I had downed at lunch seemed to have given me another burst of energy!  If I ever go in a race again I think it would be worth drinking one before I leave the dock!