Unfurled

The editing process for the photographs I made on our recent historic waterways trip has provided most of my post on this 4th of July.  I ended up with more images of the American flag than I'd realized as we traveled from Warren RI to Chicago IL for a couple of reasons.  First, it was windy and the flags were doing more than simply hanging there.  Second, I was playing with shutter speed, fast enough that I could handhold the camera and have stationary objects clearly in focus and slow enough to convey a sense of movement.  Flags were just the thing ...

Enjoy the flag waving and happy Independence Day.

at the locks, Oswego NY

Post Cemetery at Fort Ontario, Oswego NY

the Grande Mariner on Lake Ontario
between Oswego NY and Rochester NY

the Grande Mariner on Lake Erie
approaching Cleveland OH
(on a very windy day)

Cleveland OH

the Grande Mariner on Lake Erie
between Cleveland OH and Wyandotte MI

Sarnia, Ontario, Canada
at the mouth of Lake Huron

The Grand Hotel, Mackinac Island MI



The Field Museum, Chicago IL

The Field Museum, Chicago IL

Ballet afloat

Tal and I are watching Lake Erie from the open fantail of the Grande Mariner as we make our way to Cleveland.  There's a honeybee out here with us.  It lights on the back of a chair, flies up level with the upper deck or to one side of the ship or the other only to retreat, returning to the unbuffeted safely of the chair.  Again and again.  In much the same patterned route.

We left Buffalo's boat basin before supper yesterday, some 13 hours ago, and I am assuming that our pollen-laden visitor has been with us since, trapped in this boat-wide block of still air.  I wonder if it will be surprised when it emerges in Cleveland.  Will it know it's in new territory?  Where will it deposit the bright yellow pollen?

The two of us are not exactly bewildered as to our location from day to day -- there's a schedule posted on the bulletin board outside the lounge after all.  But, where we find ourselves is something of a marvel when reality casts a beam on us, a wonderfully frequent occurrence since we moved into 57B last Monday.  Sailing Lake Erie at dawn on a Tuesday in late May?  Really?  I guess we are not entirely unlike the bee who continues checking out the edges here at the back of the boat.

Unlike the bee, however, we have settled into a calm and leisurely routine.  Our cabin is small and terribly efficient, if we're careful.  While getting up, showered, dressed in the morning requires very few steps, having put everything away is essential, as is only one person going through the process at a time.  That keeps frustration and jostling to a minimum.  The routine we have developed includes my rising first and arriving in the lounge for early bird coffee just about the time the gurgling stops and the light on the urn flicks to red.  On the upper deck at dawn that hot coffee searing my throat I am guaranteed a period of solitude.  Once I get that bit of time, on board togetherness doesn't cost me over much psychic energy.

Making all this possible is the Grande Mariner's crew and staff.  Meals produced in a snug galley by two chefs and served by four stewardesses are as good as I have ever eaten.  The entire crew sees and attends to our needs almost before any of us realize we have a need at all.  And, watching the captain maneuver the vessel in tight places inspires awe even in the seasoned sailors among us.  In the background of all our leisure is washing and cleaning, scraping and painting, fueling and waste removal, the arrival of coaches for shore excursions and of performers and lecturers coming aboard to entertain or to instruct.

One way to describe what I am observing is a delicate balance among us as our little ship moves river to canal to lake.  The balance is not precarious.  It is not overly promoted.  But, it is careful, a deliberate set of steps, a dance that -- along with two 750 horsepower Caterpillar engines -- allows and defines our progress toward Chicago.

As I watch the honey bee take another breather before resuming its patrol of this air space, I have to wonder what getting to Chicago is going to be like.  Pondering that is likely a more worthwhile focus for me than wondering about a bewildered bee's arrival in Cleveland.  Harder work, too, I daresay.  Am I going to be the same person I was in Warren the first time a walked up the gang way?  After participating in this graceful dance along these historic waterways, I feel certain I'll recognize Chicago, but will I recognize myself?    

Celebrating a return

I am sitting on the upper deck of the M/V Grande Mariner in the Oswego Harbor looking out at Lake Ontario.  My perch is one of two spaces that jut out slightly behind the pilothouse on either side of the ship.  This morning I have chosen the port side (think left; both words having four letter is how I came to remember it) since the lighthouse, a small double structure of dwelling and light, both white and roofed in red, is on this side.  It sits on a long breakwater which curves into the mouth of the Oswego River from the west.  Its right side will be illuminated soon as dawn gives way to daylight and the sun rises.  It is 5:30; we are departing at 6:00.  Our destination today is Rochester.

Since we left home last Sunday, I have been keeping the journal as usual and camera use has been high.  No surprise there.  Computer time has been another thing all together.  The choice made itself.  The rivers we have sailed – the East, the Hudson, the Mohawk and the Oswego—and the canals we have navigated – the Erie and the Oswego – have claimed my near complete attention.  The weather over these days has been variable: wet to dry, cold to hot, overcast to sunny.  With foul weather gear I have been able to be out in most of it, drinking in the landscape along the rivers and marveling at the rise and fall of the ship in the locks.  There simply hasn't been time for computers.

In both sets of locks we have been something of a spectacle, being the first cruise ship to use the New York State Canal System this season.  At almost every lock there were a few locals ready to watch us lock through.  But, no place along the system could top the greeting our ship received in Waterford where the Mohawk joins the Hudson. 

We were escorted from the Federal Lock just north of Troy to Waterford, the canal's official beginning, by a large tug boat where a cluster of state and local dignitaries, the president of Blount Small Ship Adventures, a knot of television crews and reporters and onlookers of all ages awaited us.  Waterford’s fire truck pumped a long arc of water into our path.  The return of the Grande Mariner to the canal system was an event of special note.

Last year this time Tal and I were on her first Warren RI to Chicago IL run of the season.  Because of heavy springtime flooding in the northeast the Erie Canal opened late.  We entered it on its opening day.  But the water on the Oswego Canal was still too high for the ship to use and our itinerary was adjusted rather severely.  (A tour of historic waterways by bus was an interesting turn of events.  More about that in Meanderings from 17 May to  2 June.) 

Then, on Blount’s last runs of the 2011 season two of their three ships encountered Hurricane Irene and Tropical Storm Lee while in the canal system.  The passengers required rescue, the ships ended up trapped for 70 days and the state of New York spent millions repairing the locks and canal enough to free them.  Hence, the celebratory flay waving at the advent of the 2012 cruise season.

After all that a celebration and some handshaking was in order.  I decided it was a good sign; Tal and I should sail all the way to Chicago on this try.  It was our celebration, too.

Moving on -- overland

Since we were told on Monday night how this trip was going to have to play out, given the persistently high water in the Oswego Canal, I have experienced a mirthful delight at very idea of a tour of historic waterways by bus.  But, after packing our bags and leaving them in the corridor and after one last breakfast -- this one including waffles, pancakes, apple wood bacon, fresh fruit, that is precisely what we set out to do today.  Two buses arrived in the RV park.  We were loaded in moments, our goodbyes said to the crew, and on our way, abandoning the boat in the woods.  My last glimpse of the Grande Mariner was from the bridge over the canal, the boat alongside the dock, all flat, wide and streamlined, and Lake Oneida on my right.  Sigh.

It was a three-hour drive to Buffalo.  We were riding in the back, by choice.  Lots more leg room.  A little more solitude.  I didn't bring a map with me on this trip, since I wasn't going to need one.  Google Earth was on the screen on the lounge almost all the time, that or the captain's sailing charts.  So, today I've felt a little lost.  In a church parking lot somewhere on the outskirts of Buffalo we paused long enough to rendezvous with two step-on guides who stayed with us through our visit to Niagara Falls.

Our first stop was at the New York Power Authority visitor center, about 4.5 miles downstream from the falls, where we ate box lunches -- which had been prepared aboard the Grande Mariner.  (Have I mentioned recently not liking having had to leave the boat?!)   High above the Niagara River Gorge and called the Power Vista, the visitor center overlooks two power plants (the Robert Moses Niagara Power Plant on the US side and the Sir Adam Beck #2 Generating Station on the Canadian side) and the graceful Lewiston-Queenston Bridge.

Taken from the Power Vista on the American side of the Niagara Gorge -- Beck on left, Moses on right.

After that too-short visit -- didn't get to explore the exhibits or roam the grounds, we traveled along the Niagara escarpment, eventually ending up aboard the Maid of the Mist, all clad in what looked like blue, hooded dry cleaner bags.  Great fun, very wet, too short.

Despite some graduate work in architectural history, to include landscape, I didn't know that Frederick Law Olmstead did work at Niagara Falls.  In the late 19th century the site was heavily industrial, as well as having been commercialized (like it isn't now?).  New York state established a state park (called a reserve at the time) in 1883 (making it the oldest state park in the nation), which was then designed by Olmstead, collaborating with Calvert Vaux.  Our visit was on the Friday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend, the place choked with visitors, the design carrying the load, but just barely.  I can only imagine what the next three days will be like.

The American Falls from the observation platform at Prospect Point

The rapids on their way to the brink of the American Falls

A view of Horseshoe Falls from Goat Island's Terrapin Point



Made from a 100
year-old Silver
Maple damaged in
a storm in 2006

To the hotel with us, the Buffalo Hyatt Regency in downtown.  What was one of the first things I saw from my backseat perch?  A "statue" of Frederick Law Olmstead alongside the driveway!  Yes, it does lean back quite a bit.  What do you think?  Chisel or chainsaw?

Little Falls to Sylvan Beach: a last day afloat

I would be lying if I claimed that today's arrival is OK with me. These past several days travelling by boat have been such fun and so easy. I appreciate having a room where all our stuff stays; I appreciate being able to retire there when the company gets to be a little much; I appreciate not having to comply strictly to a schedule. And, all that ends first thing in the morning. But, we have today and my task -- and I did choose to accept it -- has been to engage the day. But, to risk a touch of melodrama, I have been aware that I've been doing some things I have liked so much for the last time.

This is the lounge shortly after 7:00AM, featuring the big, popular coffee urn and morning activities, like reading, checking e-mail, the jigsaw puzzle in the left front, the daily newspaper thanks to, Lisa, our early-rising cruise director,
conversation.

Our departure was leisurely, our travel distance less than 50 miles with four locks to negotiate.  Tal and I enjoyed another walk around the harbor, noting that all the watercraft we saw at nightfall had departed, leaving the dock empty except for the Grande Mariner. 

At Lock E18 shortly after we left Little Falls the canal parted company with the Mohawk, the river off on our starboard side turning into a meandering, fly-fishing stream beyond that point.  For the only time this trip we shared a lock with another vessel, the occupants looking not quite at ease with the situation.  Once the lift was done, the Irresistable moved out with haste and we didn't see it again.

I know those folks were silently pleading "close gate, quick, close the gate!"



And, I love the looming shadow cast by the bow of the Grande Mariner.

Railroad bridge and doors to Lock E19

The approach to Lock E19 looked ominous, boasting the lowest bridge we would encounter with a clearance today of 21 feet.  We proceeded under with care, the captain noting that all we would need was a train to take to the bridge at that moment, which would lower the bridge as much as an inch.  It was close.  We eased into the lock with a train crossing the bridge behind us.

Today's section of the canal is straight and on the industrial side in some places and remote-looking in others.  We passed viewing stands with waving locals, fishermen (and women) in the shade of bridges, dredging crews.  We encountered lowering clouds and rain, debris in the high water (a water heater being the most unusual item), wildlife.  I only left the deck for lunch and to begin packing.

Approaching Lock E21

At Lock E21 we locked through down rather than up, a mementous moment meaning that we were nearing Sylvan Beach.  It felt sort of odd, the disappearing from view rather than rising into view.  That sad sentiment was hard to shake, but I had help (see below).

Here's Tal doing his best to keep me cheerful! I can't resist that cute face.



So, like it or not, we arrived in Sylvan Beach for the night.  We docked alongside an RV park.  While our appearance was something of a novelty, when the park's residents learned the boat could be there from three days to a week, they were not thrilled, since the Grande Mariner blocks the view of the the water for some 85 feet.   It's hard to fathom that they didn't like it as much as I do!

The RV park residents prefer this to my boat?  Makes a girl wonder ...

Evening in Little Falls



By the time Tal and I returned from our
stroll the tender, the Egret, had been
launched and repairs were underway.

Once through Lock E17 arriving at the Little Falls Canal Harbor took less than half an hour.  It had been a good day, but many of us were ready to go for a walk.  Rather than explore the harbor, hike to the falls, investigate the neighborhood, however, the first thing most of us did was walk to the bow of the boat to check out the damage from mid-day -- to the captain's good-natured horror.  His words were and I quote, "Oh, you don't want to go up there."  But, of course, we wanted nothing more.

The walk was invigorating even though we had no idea where we were going.  The double tracks that had provided my lullaby last night were still across the Mohawk from us.  Train traffic continued to be steady, but moved much more sedately given being in town and the grade involved.  We passed over an old section of the Erie Canal.  And, here's a building I found especially intriguing -- for the shadow-patterns cast by the light fixtures and the doors on the second floor.

The harbor was crowded with boats headed west into the Great Lakes and other locales for the summer.  After supper aboard the Grande Mariner I went back out to enjoy some evening photography and was treated to a rather dear sight: a covered dish dinner.  Folks from the six or so vessels moored for the night pooled their resources and met for conversation and a meal on the large after-deck of one of the boats.  I understand that often those traveling the canal at the same time strike up friendships and end up staying together and looking out for each other until reaching their various destinations.  Anyway, good scents and lots of laughter.  The way life is supposed to be.

I had a wonderful time with the tripod and camera before dark, as you can see.

The Mohawk River, looking west from the beyond where the Grande Mariner was moored for the night.

A detail of the fountain near the entrance to the Little Falls Canal Harbor.  I had to stay out until after 8:00 for the light to fade enough for the length shutter speed I wanted.  The harbor master left the water on until I'd finished.

We were treated to musical entertainment for a second night in a row.  Of course, it wasn't supposed to happen that way, a near double-feature.  On the long-forgotten original schedule we were to have heard Skip Parsons late last week.  Mike Kornrich wasn't supposed to entertain us until we reached Rochester -- where we are now not going.  To their credit, these two drove the three hours from Rochester to Little Falls.  They were terrific. 

Billowy clouds and blue skies

The excitement at Lock E-14 was short-lived and we sailed through the afternoon, literally and figuratively.  For a time, after the lock at Fort Plain (E15), we and the Mohawk River parted company, joining once again just beyond Five-Mile Dam at Indian Castle.

A few photographs from those hours will give a sense of the scenery and spare you (and me) any more words.

Looking across the front of the freshly-painted dam at Lock E15.  The farm on the far side of the river gives an indication of the richness and the beauty of the Mohawk River valley.  Sam, our historian, reminds us repeatedly that at the time the Erie Canal was built and into its mid-1800 heyday, there would have been no trees in sight, everything having been cut for fuel and building material.  What we see now is just over 100 years of growth.



We have lifted about eight feet, awaiting the opening of the gates and the continuation of our journey.  The lock-keepers on the canal take great pride in the grounds around the lock.  Most are park-like with picnic tables and benches, inviting the considerable numbers of people who come to watch the lock traffic.

An abstract of the backside of the dam at Lock E15, featuring
reflections of the chains which operate the metal plates and
the steel guides.

Abstract of the Grande Mariner's wake
leaving Lock E15, with chain reflection
in the upper left corner.

The view under one of the two guard gates with an abandoned bridge in the distance as we near the intersection of the canal and the Mohawk River just east of Little Falls.  I think this is Guard Gate E3.

Looking back at Five-Mile Dam on the Mohawk River.  The Grande Mariner has completed its run on the canal and, heading west toward Little Falls, has rejoined the river.

What a beautiful day for a cruise.

Lock E14 at Canajoharie

Lock E14 and its dam as seen from the east

Westbound boaters approaching locks on the Erie Canal with removable dams prefer that the major flow of water being released through the dam be as far away from the lock as possible.  When the situation is otherwise, a whirlpool can form in advance of the lock making piloting vessels into the chamber extra difficult.  The higher the water the more serious the problem.

Such was the case today.  The gates closest to the lock were open full.  The water this late spring/early summer is near-record high.  And, there was wind, as well -- blowing front right to back left.

The chief engineer was piloting the boat.  The bow started in OK, but with the competing current and wind the craft didn't have enough momentum to carry it straight .  (When conditions are ideal, the Grand Mariner with some momentum can enter a lock using the bow thrusters primarily for direction.)  The pilot lost control of the back of the boat and the boat hit the port-side entrance to the lock -- hard.  In the end and to keep damage to a minimum the captain took the helm, backed the boat downstream, realigned and began again.  With his decisive (aggressive) use of the propellers, rudder and bow thrusters, the Grand Mariner overcame the current and slipped into the lock.


Crisis averted, we are rising in the lock.
The one with the radio is the first mate.

The photograph to the right is a scene repeated lock after lock after lock.  I've already noted a deck hand gets off the vessel goes to the top of the lock to hold the line while the Grande Mariner is in the lock.  I think of it was walking the boat.  Also, a member of the crew is stationed on the lock-side side of the boat and communicates with the captain, who, with the pilot house lowered to the deck while on the Eric Canal, cannot see the boat's position.  How many feet he has between the lock wall on the bow and on the stern is updated constantly while the craft is in the lock.

We needed to take on potable water -- and to get over all the excitement, so we ate lunch while in the lock.  Another memorable meal, this one for both the roasted red pepper soup and the lobster sandwiches.  Oh, my ...  I suspect there's going to begin some major weight recalibration the minute we return home!

For all the mischief it caused the dam at Lock E14 is a beautiful structure.

Changing one's vantage point

While I have not spent any significant time in the Hudson River Valley during my life, there is a stretch along the river Tal and I visited on occasion when we lived NW of Philadelphia. We toured Lyndhurst (at Tarrytown) and West Point, hiked Storm King and admired the bridges, learned to watch for passenger trains in the east side of the river and freight trains on the west side.

Today I saw familiar places from a different – literally – point of view. I spent hours on the ship’s open top deck, unable to get beyond the surprise and pleasure of looking inland at the passing landscape from the water as opposed to looking at the water and the passing watercraft from the shore.  Nonchalant I'm not.

 

The Rip Van Winkle Bridge
at Catskill NY

Through the day Sam has pointed out landmarks, talked about the battles fought over the years to control the Hudson – battles among countries during the colonial period and battles among families during the nation’s youth – and returned again and again to our waterway theme. I have continued photographing bridges, pleased at the fact that I could gaze at them in a leisurely and admiring way. So much better than the quick and limited looking I’m able to do while driving and minding traffic.

Life aboard ship is setting in to a wonderful routine.  The meals have been and are exceptional, delicious, interesting with homemade everything, including all the baked goods -- cakes, pies, muffins, breads, dinner rolls.  There's the not so routine as well, such as this morning's fire drill.

Two things are going on here.  The rolls are being formed in the foreground and the individual sponge cakes for strawberry shortcake have just gone in the oven.

The crew has clear duties
during a drill.  These guys
tested hoses, shooting
geysers of water off the
back of the boat.

Here we are in the assembly spot -- the dining room -- with everyone present and accounted for.



Before ...

Our location for tonight and tomorrow night is Troy, the birthplace of both Uncle Sam and the American industrial revolution. While we are here the crew will prepare the vessel for travel on the Eric Canal, clearing the top deck of everything, including the pilot house.



... and after.  That's the frame used to lower the pilot house onto the deck just behind the bow still standing in place.