Michael wakes me early.  My Nook, when I look, says 5:45, almost 7 am EST, I think.  I push myself out of bed and grab a wake-me-up cup of coffee.  We have to leave early.  Michael wants to be in the middle of the canal moving forward by 8 a.m. And he wants to take on water across the canal at the north dock, and I want to take a shower and dry my hair, and then there is breakfast—another Fiber One bar.

Before my hair is combed, I hear the motor thrum and feel the Harriet Wiles making a U-turn under Michael’s guidance to get to the north dock and take on water.

A Tunnel of Green

We arrive at the first lock at 8:03 am, and I tell the two young men standing there, “It wasn’t my idea to be here this early.” They smile. The morning is crystal clear, cool, and glorious.

We travel through a silent, still tunnel of green, the monotony broken up by bridges—old, new, obsolete, torn, tattered, and shattered.  There is the occasional dead tree, industrial plants, and way too many locks. Osprey’s soar, Blue Heron’s fish, wild geese gather, Mallards leave trails of v’s in the canal as they float in front of us, separating at our approach.

Lunch Onboard

When it is time for lunch, I walk into the galley and prepare a decadent meal of expensive Spanish tuna tossed with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. I sprinkle it with sea salt and freshly cracked pepper; a fan of sliced avocado and potato chips for crunch finish the dish. I do have my vices. I wash it down with French rose; for the captain, water.

Too Many Locks

My knees are sore from the numerous times I have to kneel on the hard bench of the bow, leaning forward, hands out, trying to catch the rope that will keep us steady as the lock drops sixteen feet so that our passage through the green tunnel can continue. Finally, I grab a pillow from the bedroom, which makes the kneeling less painful.  I find the chart given to us by Mid-Lakes and count the locks we have been through and the number we have yet to go; there are nine in all!  Most drop; the last two before Seneca Falls rise a total of fifty feet.

We reach the last lock.  I have learned that standing to grab the rope is easier though a little more stressful safety-wise.  I hang on tightly to the railing with my right hand and grab the rope with my left.  At first glance, the walls of this lock look shiny new—textured pebbled concrete.  I look more closely, and the pebbles move. The lock wall is encrusted with millions of tiny muscle-shaped shells. Finally, the gates open, and we exit into a world of shimmering blue water and a multitude of pleasure boats.  We pass a beautiful old church.

Seneca Falls, NY

We dock on the north side of the river across from the old town of Seneca Falls, deciding that even though we will have electricity, the location is terribly inconvenient.  The roundabout walk we take up the bridge that connects this side of the river to the main part of town is a tedious long climb. No stairs, just weeds. We unhook.  We unplug and begin again.

Michael goes in search of ice.  He returns, carrying two cups full of iced ginger ale—everything is closed but a corner bar—we pour in a bit of rum and toast our successful docking experience.

Happy hour is an hour early today.

Dinner at seven with this as our view.  Peppered steak, potatoes, sliced tomatoes… and Rombauer Zinfandel. Michael does the dishes and I toddle off to bed in a happy glow.