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July 31, 2020

This morning was different.

This morning I didn’t have to break camp at 5:45 AM. I didn’t have to look out from behind the tent flap to see if the winds were finally cooperating. I didn’t have to wrestle my sleeping bag, air mattress, and tent into their separate, woefully undersized bags. (Ref: Snoopy and the Lawn Chair) I didn’t have to gather my kit into separate smaller bags, deciding which I would need while underway. I didn’t have to repack the boat for proper balance, anticipating the “what if’s” of thirst, rain, or an unexpected capsize. And I didn’t have to call a breakfast bar, a bottle of OJ, and raisins “breakfast,” even if they were, and then stand in the woods to brush and wash, and then settle in behind the oars for another day of (upwind) rowing.

No, this morning I woke up in my bed. I looked out at the flag in the pre-dawn light and smiled: dead calm. This morning I stood at a real sink and brushed my mostly still-real teeth. This morning I came down to a cup of coffee, a comfy chair, my familiar writing space, made some eggs, and again counted my blessings. Today, I’m home.

The mileage for this trip came in a 292 miles over eight days…somewhat shorter than I thought it would be, but the deep fatigue I’m feeling this morning is the result of having contended with five consecutive days of headwinds….the “rowing on a treadmill” effect. With no wind, I can sustain about 4.2 mph over the ground for extended periods and with any kind of tailwind, the Mach meter reads 5.2 to 5.5. Free speed, free distance, less energy expended. But over these last five days, days when the south winds have been strong and unrelenting, I’ve been looking at 2.8 to 3.5 on the ‘lil GPS…which equates to many, many more strokes to cover the same distance…more slowly.

At these speeds, one looks at the same things over the stern for a long time.

Anyway, I’m not complaining. After all, over the last forty-eight hours, I’ve met more nice people and had only one close call.

The Gower family of Ticonderoga, for example, recognized me as I labored past their dock, correctly identifying me as “Hey, you’re that guy in The Mirror,” and Mrs. Gower made a spirited run up the hill to the house to retrieve cold beverages for the ordeal ahead while Mr. Gower advised me that once I passed Anthony’s Nose, “all hell would break lose with this wind.” The man sure knows his part of the lake, as it did….and they later came out in their boat and encouraged me on. Thank you, kindly Gowers! When you pass Cleverdale, I hope I can return the favor.

Later that afternoon, as the wind kept whistling and my energy began to flag at the 32 mile-mark, I camped at (an undisclosed island). My best friends Bob and Brian, sensing my fatigue, ran a pasta meal and various other supplies 22 miles up the lake for me. I ask you, where do we find such friends?

Yesterday, my final day on the water and sixteen miles south of the undisclosed island, I picked up the typically sumptuous Breakfast Sandwich at Water’s Edge in Bolton on my way to the Village. One hundred yards from the restaurant, I narrowly avoided being run down by a guy driving a bow-rider who could not see anything in front of his boat. Three people sat directly in his sight line and had not one of his passengers cried an alarm, I would have been T-boned and this blog would have ended far sooner than it will. The fellow’s response, when I suggested to him that one should be able to see out of a boat and give way to unpowered craft, was (and I’m not kidding), “Hey! You’re not the only one out here.”

True. True. But that was not my point, dude.  

So perhaps that cautionary tale, one about possible crisis in the middle of paradise, is the place to end this blog?  

Nancy, Patrick, Walt, and Buzz, all extraordinary advocates for the Lake in their work at the LGA and in countless other ways, met me at the Lake George Village dock in mid-afternoon. They wanted to thank me for the funds we’ve raised through this shared adventure, and I wanted to thank them for their efforts in stewardship of this lake and for their wonderful spirit of collaboration. And at one moment, amid the mid-summer, Covid-cautious but thriving business of the Village, we paused and reflected that it’s all about the water….the beautiful, clear, but always at-risk water which is the foundation of it all. Without our water quality, we are just another lake. With it, and engaged in the vital work of protecting it and sustaining this incredible resource for future generations, we are so much more.

Peace, love, happiness….and good health…and with gratitude,

 

Al Freihofer

Cleverdale, New York

July 31, 2020

Al at the public dock in Lake George Village

      

Morning at Huletts Landing