The clock struck 7 a.m., signaling the start of the day. With the combined efforts of Steve and Neil, the boat was carefully positioned in front of the crane, ready for the mast to be lifted. As we prepared our morning brew, the aroma from the Nespresso machine filled the boat. It was going to be a good day. Each morning, us sailors eagerly gathered around the nespresso, savoring the rich, invigorating taste that fueled our day.
At exactly 7:30, Steve, the Oswago Marina crew chief responsible for removing the mast, arrived in his sleek, expensive 4-wheel drive pickup truck. Clad in our protective foul weather gear, we braved the tempestuous storm outside as we emerged from the cozy confines of the boat. The rain relentlessly pounded us from the side, propelled by the strong easterly winds that continued to fuel the fierce storm brewing on the lake, a battle we had successfully fought and won the previous day.
“It might be a bit too windy to take down the mast today,” said Steve, the crew chief. “Ruddy’s got a bad back anyway. Jarett, well, he is fairly new and…..,” the crew chief paused paused. “We wouldn’t want to drop it, would we?” As he spoke, the wind howled and some of his words were lost in its gusts.
I raised my gaze towards the mast. The mast, with its shrouds slightly loosened in preparation, swayed unsteadily in response to the strong wind. I took a moment to explain. “The truck is scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning at 9 a.m., and they will transport it to Albany. Additionally, I have already planned and paid for a crew to load it back onto the boat on Monday.”
With a casual shrug of his shoulders, Steve made it clear that he wasn’t buying into that line of thought. “I still can’t believe you were on the lake in this weather,” he said shaking his head.
I glanced at my crew, Steve and Neil, with a sheepish look that I hoped conveyed, ‘Sorry about that.’ We’d had a discussion ahead of the trip and recognized the old sailor’s adage that the most dangerous thing on a sailboat is a schedule. Neil and Steve, fortunately, may have gained some wisdom from that adventure and learned a little about my tendency to brush things off when I used my line of thought, ‘Really, now. What’s the worst that could happen?’
“Nope,” they both said to the crew chief before I could comment further, perhaps fearful of me arguing in favor of keeping to the schedule. “We would not want to drop the mast.”
Steve, the wise Oswego Marina mast operator……
The rest of our day was dedicated to tidying and sprucing up the boat. Neil and I decided to challenge ourselves by going for a 10-kilometer run together. Steve made a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up some last-minute food items. The predictions for the weather indicated that the winds would calm down overnight. It turns out, they were right. The following morning, Marina Steve and his crew of four efficiently removed the mast without any complications and loaded it onto the truck. We set off up the Oswego River to the first lock.
Neil and Steve, the seasoned crew of S/V Ileana showing off their prowess in negotiating the first lock
The locks stretch out for approximately 200 feet in length and span about 40 feet in width. The massive concrete walls and towering metal gates held back the surging water, creating a controlled environment as the boat ascended to the next level. To prevent the boat from moving in the lock, Steve would tightly grip the rope that hung down from the sides of the lock, securing the bow, while Neil would do the same at the stern. To manoeuvre the boat, I would skillfully manipulate the bow thruster. It was a scene unfolding with graceful movements, like a beautiful dance. I smiled as I congratulated myself on how good we were. There are 30 locks to negotiate, and with every lock, our skills improved.
In the late afternoon, we found ourselves gliding across the 20-mile-long Lake Oneida, the gentle waves lapping against the sides of our boat. The water was so smooth that it reflected the surrounding landscape like a flawless mirror. When I glanced behind, I could hear the roaring engine of a fast-moving yacht rapidly approaching us. The sunseeker 75-foot gas guzzler named Leo, abruptly changed course to our starboard side, seemingly annoyed by our leisurely pace of 8 knots compared to their swift 30 knots. With Neil at the helm, we were both in awe of the extravagant beauty of the multimillion-dollar creation as it effortlessly roared by. As the yacht passed us, we suddenly became aware of the impending tsunami that would violently shake our 38,000lb vessel, causing everything on the deck to be flung into the water. The cabin would be a chaotic mess, as if someone had blended all the contents together in a frenzy, unless corrective action was taken.
“The coffee machine!” shouted Steve as he flew into the companionway and into the main salon hoping to catch the Nespresso mid air. In an act of heroism, Neil bravely cranked the wheel, catching the tsunami perpendicular, causing the boat to lurch forward and backward harmlessly, as it pivoted gracefully on the keel, until the waves finally settled. The seasoned crew efficiently salvaged both the boat and the coffee machine. I stood there, speechless, in awe of my fully seasoned crew.
As we left the small town of Sylvan Beach on the east side of Lake Oneida the following day, Leo, the massive creature, trailed behind us. With the thick fog obstructing our view and the narrow channel limiting our speed to 2 knot, it wasn’t long before we received a hail on the VHF radio. “Sailing vessel ahead of us, we’ll be passing on your port side.”
Dense fog on the Erie Canal with Leo in the distance
It struck me that the typical camaraderie and friendliness among boaters was noticeably lacking. The lack of banter, like “How’s it going up there in front in that thick fog? Do you want us to take over the lead?”, made the silence feel more pronounced. After passing us, they plowed through, leaving a trail of churning water in their wake as they headed towards the next lock, which was 4 miles away. Getting closer to the lock, I reached for the radio and transmitted a message to the lock master, giving them a heads up that we were just about to arrive. Leo was already there, surrounded by their crew who gripped onto the slimy ropes. The intensity of their glares was unmistakable as we arrived at the lock, their annoyance evident at having to wait for us.
Leo, not so patiently waiting for us
We traversed the first few locks smoothly, without any notable incidents, until we reached lock 17. Once again, Leo was left waiting for us to arrive. I had radioed ahead, and the crew’s patience was wearing thin due to our slow pace. Just as we were about to retrieve the ropes smoothly, the lockmaster started emptying the lock, throwing us off balance. As Steve was reaching for the rope, the turbulent force of the sinking water sent my stern spinning towards Leo. Steve’s grip slipped on the slimy rope, and he couldn’t hold on any longer.
The unsuspecting crew of Leo at the lock before we smashed into them…….
I aggressively maneuvered the bow using the bow thruster towards the port side, causing my entire 38,000 lbs to collide with Leo’s brightly polished starboard. A powerful impact shook my boat. There were huge fenders on Leo’s side, so the impact was blunted somewhat. As the turbulence intensified, my boat began to slide in reverse, adding an element of unpredictability to the experience. Steve later explained that the older member of the crew had a meltdown, which he referred to as a “hissy fit.” The engine noise from the stern of the boat was so loud that it drowned out all other sounds. As I strained to hear, I could only see his mouth move, catching fragments of a few words. Something about one of us having ‘shit for brains’. Glancing around, I noticed that there was no one else nearby, leading me to assume that the comment was directed at me.
“Any damage?” I shouted loudly while he carefully leaned over the edge of Leo, equipped with a cloth and a bottle of water. With a disapproving shake of his head, he diligently polished the gleaming hull, ensuring every inch sparkled. While he didn’t respond, he still managed to photograph my boat. As soon as the gates of the lock opened, he gunned Leo to cruising altitude with a roar of the 1300 hp engines, as if to be absolutely certain we would have no further interactions at the next lock. Watching the rooster tail of water shooting into the air from his stern, we too, hoped it was the last time we would see Leo.
The rest of the Erie canal was uneventful. The beauty of upstate New York with the glorious sunsets and epic sunrises enraptured us. It was truly a beautiful experience.
