Day 5 - 10:30AM Mooney Bay

Mooney Bay Marina

A 5:45 start enabled me to put some miles under my keel before a tough wind piped up, right on the nose of the boat, with rollers building within the hour.  I've been tempted in by the "Tiki Bar" sign here in Mooney Bay, and sure enough, a well-masked waitress is about to slide more bacon and eggs across the bar to me.  I am tempted to pass a few hours here in hopes that the wind abates or changes direction...plus the mimosas look attractive.

Matt and I camped out here years ago on our way up to the St. Lawrence; the restaurant was hopping, we ate lasagnas larger than our heads, and the grounds and restrooms were top-notch. Today, other than the well-populated restaurant, the marina itself is a ghost town.  Dozens of beautiful sailboats remain up on their cradles, shrink-wrapped and buttoned up as if it were February.  These are almost all Canadian boats, done for a summer that never got started.  And a hundred slips in front of me lie empty...just a lonely guideboat, an old guy with a journal, and yes, now a mimosa on the way.

Hey...it's Sunday.  It's windy. And I do have 14 miles already behind me.

XXOO
Peace, love, & happiness...and thanks to Craig and his wonderful family for their lovely hospitality last night!

7/26 - Still in Mooney Bay ... tossing grass in the air... minding the wind...

Some more thoughts on Champlain...

Even though this strong wind is from the east-south east (a direction that would greatly favor rowing in the lea and relative calm of the Vermont side,) I'm going to try to make this an "around" row by sticking to the New York shore. The northern end of Champlain - at least these first 15 miles - does not present the sheer cliffs or abrupt hills of the Vermont islands... gentle gravel slopes, a smattering of beaches, and many small, rustic, seemingly older camps dot a pretty featureless shore.  The Green Mountains provide a lovely distant skyline... very distant... and today, maybe from the water's turbulence, some cooler temperatures, or regional features, the algae has abated and the water seems quite clear.

But oh, the silence. This perfect playground in front of me is essentially devoid of boats.  Only a dozen or so people sat on their porches or shore over my first 15 miles... on a Sunday in mid-July.  My sense of luck and blessing is being able to do this is counterbalanced by the unquestionably widespread pain and suffering taking place across the country. Anxiety and uncertainty abound.

I sure wish I'd pass another old guy in his guideboat so I could ask him what he thinks.

XXOO