May 7 // 1 0 0 0 I s l a n d s // “Anchored snugly in a beautiful quiet spot amidst multiple islands. I am loving Navionics, which makes cruising so much easier. Jessie and I have switched roles. She is the mom. She is in charge. I like it ” – Claire. My mother.
May 8 // Departing 1 0 0 0 I s l a n d s // The olive oil has congealed. Snowflakes rest on my Gill gear. The lines wrap stiffly around the winches. The northerly air sears the side of my face. I ice skate on the frosty deck to hoist the anchor. My nostrils are smokestacks.
I knew leaving this early in the spring was questionable. I knew it would be brutal. I knew it wouldn’t be a joy ride. I’ve always been a believer in having control over my attitude in awful conditions, and do trust greatly that bitching is a waste of energy. Don’t get me wrong – I do bitch. I bitch most often in the form of writing but very little in the physical presence of other humans
It’s snowing. Not just a little bit. It’s actually snowing. When it began to fall this morning it looked like specs of glitter. We motor through Islands, mansions, cottages, all appearing to be unoccupied. It’s beautiful. For a moment I think to myself how amazing this is – cruising the St. Lawrence River in the snow. There is absolutely no one. Just us.
The wind picks up out the North. Glitter morphs into wet bullets. We have over 30 miles to go and my enthusiasm turns to panic. That moment I had with the remote islands, mansions, and glitter is history. I am wondering what the hell we are doing out here.
Where is everyone?
MAY 9 // En route to C h r y s l e r P a r k // The river is flooded. Cabins look like they are floating. Trees, branches, and pieces of dock float down-bound alongside us. Marinas are closed. When we phone ahead to find out if any docks can accommodate us – voices are weary. This is the highest anyone has ever seen the river.
I am inside warming up while mom is at the helm. The current is moving us swiftly. An easy two knots accelerate our progress. Rain instead of snow today. When cold days stack on top of each other I find there is only way to distract myself from the situation. Taylor Swift. By default it is her album I turn up loudly. I look up to see my mom swimming in her multiple layers of foul weather gear, but it’s more than just a swim. She is dancing. She is smiling. She is getting rained on. All by herself. She looks so happy. I can’t help but think to myself – w o w – there she is, a prime example of how to shift your mind in unpleasant situations. I must have learned this from her. I am instantly proud of her. Proud to be hers. I join her in the cockpit for a Taylor Swift dance and we float on down the river on auto-pilot in the rain. I am not cold anymore.
Where is everyone?
May 10 // En route to C o r n w a l l // We slept like babies who were given sips of whiskey. Borderline comatose. This morning we took turns taking hot showers in the marina. By the time I was done with mine, mom had banana walnut pancakes prepared. Role change again. She is the mom. I am the daughter.
The river is glassy today. Everything mirrors the surface. Double Desirée. Double clouds. Double birds. Double ships. Double me. Again, no one is around. Just us, the cormorants, and the swallows floating on a surface of mercury.
Mom is nervous about the locks because she has never been through one. As we drift up to the cement wall painted with colors scraped off large ships, she wraps a line around the floating bollard. We begin to go down. Down. Down. Down we go. Looking up at the colossal cement chamber surrounding us, her eyes widen. Here we are at the bottom of a water elevator, sinking deeply into its’ engineering. The leaky gates open. We are released back onto the mercury river. Mom isn’t a “lock virgin” anymore. Her confidence is immediately restored.
MAY 11 // En Route to V a l l e y f i e l d // I like rivers. I like locks. I like shoreline. I like the birds. I like the houses. I like the floating debris. I like talking to ships. I like waving to fisherman. I like watching the clouds pass from one tree line to the next. I like not knowing whats around the next corner. I like seeking the next buoy. I like that they lead you to oceans. But I am scared of the ocean. It’s not that far ahead of me. I wish this river would take me all the way to England.
May 12 // En Route to M o n t r e a l // Sitting at the helm eating cookies, unsure how else I should spend this time. Driving in circles, being ignored by the Valleyfield bridge operator.
Forty minutes later we are acknowledged by the bridge man, who grants us special permission to pass under the next two bridges, and through two locks. They do not technically open to pleasure craft until tomorrow. I was supposed to be given permission by the seaway ahead of time to pass through – but like the bridge man – they never responded to me. We are only the second sailboat to transit the seaway this season. Where is everyone?
The bridge opens. We stop traffic. We pass under and thank the bridge man for making an exception. We arrive at the next bridge and wait. I eat more cookies. Do a few push-ups. Forty minutes later a ship comes roaring by and the second bridge opens. The ship ignores my call. The bridge ignores my call. We follow in his wake. We arrive at the first lock. Tie up to a floating dock. I eat another cookie. Do a few dips. Mom calls the lock master. We wait. An hour and half later, two ships have locked through and we get the green light. It’s out turn.
We lock down. Motor through a canal 1/2 a mile long, and pass another up-bound ship. The ship is from Holland. The men wave. We wave back. They wave again. And so do we. This goes on until we are out of sight. I imagine what it was like to cross the ocean on that ship. I imagine what it will be like to cross in Desirée.
We lock down again. The gate opens.
I CAN SEE MONTREAL! The city skyline… It’s right there in front of us.
I REPEAT : I CAN SEE MONTREAL ! I would like another cookie please.
WE MADE IT TO MONTREAL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There everyone is.