The power of memory

It wasn't the Grande Mariner, but it was the Maid of the Mist.  And, in the scheme of things today, that distinction made all the difference.

I had a wonderful time doing the touristy thing, the boat ride with Tal and our group.  The whole process -- filing off the bus to being herded to the dock to receiving the blue, hooded poncho, to boarding the boat -- was completely organized.  There was no possibility of going the wrong way, being separated from the group, missing the boat.

Once on the Niagara River and as we approached the falls, I was very nearly overcome.  The water was one thing -- thunderous, surreal, baffling.  More important than the obvious for me was the power of memory -- insistent, clear, touching.

Was it the summer of Lucia's infancy or was she a year and a half?  I don't remember.  Either way she was in a stroller.  On our annual family vacation that year we traveled as usual to see Mom's parents in Milford MI.  The plan had been for Lucia to stay with Grandma and Grandpa while the rest of us went to Niagara Falls.  Grandpa, though, had been ill.  Mom and Dad determined that leaving Lucia would be too much to ask.

Forty-six or forty-seven years ago the set up at the falls and going on the Maid of the Mist was different than now (and I think, too, we were on the Canadian side, but I'm not at all sure).  Mom and Lucia had stayed on the rim, missing out on the adventure.  Dad had the three of us in tow descending to the level of the river.  There were dressing rooms.  Dad and Paul went one way.  Joyce and I had custody of each other.  When we all emerged, we were clad in heavy, yellow raincoats, duck-tail-looking, yellow hats, galoshes, having left our own footwear in shoe check.  Strangely, it was that part -- the dressing room procedure that I remember the most clearly of the whole experience.

Anyway, as I stood on the deck of the Maid of the Mist this afternoon, deep inside the cataract carved by the water, the three falls pouring forth, the sound near huge, the mist almost heavy as rain, my knees seemed to want to give way and my eyes made a pretty heavy mist of their own.  The words were so clear.  I was a pre-teen again.  Dad's voice was shouting to us over the roar of the water, "Look for your mom. Wave to Lucia and Mom." 

Grief does work its way in at the most unexpected times.  My dad, gone 13 months this week, was right there.  Without doubt.

I waved.

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?

Favorite image

During the early afternoon a storm began brewing.  For many miles we enjoyed dramatic blue skies with huge, towering clouds.  Conditions aligned and we encountered hard rain after Lock E-21, the first of the two descending locks before reaching Sylvan Beach.  The rain suited my sad mood every well.  But, retreating into the lounge did not.

When the rain tapered off, I stepped back out on deck and photographed one of two nearly identical bridges between the last lock and the lake -- the Vienna Higgensville Road or the Cove Road, both of Pennsylvania through-truss design.  Even with raindrops disturbing the water's surface, the light had come up sufficiently to provide wonderful reflections, interestingly only of the structure's vertical rods, not of its overall shape.

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. 

High and lifted up

Since turning left on the Hudson into the mouth of the Mohawk, we have been hearing about Lock E17.  It's legendary, with a 40.5 foot lift, half again as high as any along the canal.  When it was built, it replaced four locks.


And, it's imposing, looking like a huge concrete box with a door at the bottom -- which it is.  Showing below the green girder with the "17" painted on it in the image to the right is the counterweighted 150-ton door which lowers to hold water in the lock.  On approaching that gaping entrance and looking inside, the other end of the concrete box has look doors high on the wall. 

Easing in

Looking east from the top of Lock E17
Note the counterweight immediately under the "17" and the NY169 bridge swooping across the river in the distance.



A detail of one of the pair of chains
which control the downstream door
of Lock E17.



Looking toward Little Falls
The cliff to the right of the river is a popular rockclimbing spot. Boaters look at the climbers and climbers looks back at the boaters. 



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.