Well, it finally happened. Due to an improperly tied knot, the crew lost a pail overboard. Her favorite pail, no less. In case blame was headed my way, I was ready to head it off by saying, "If I was the one who has steadfastly refused to learn three basic knots, then I would accept part or all of the responsibility for this tragic loss. But, I wasn't and therefore, won't. So, fuggetaboutit." I'm glad I wasn't forced to make that comment because there could have been consequences. A nice new, bright yellow pail was purchased for C$3.67, but it's not the same. The crew now intends to learn some knots on her own and with no help from others, thank-you-very-much. Uh-huh. Our habit is to start the day's cruise when the locks open at 8:30. This puts us at our next destination earlier than most other cruisers who spend the morning nursing hangovers. Thus, we usually find the choicest moorage open. Not only that but we are moored and inside when the frequent afternoon thunderstorm kicks up the water, reduces visibility, makes gusty crosswinds, and wets down the crew. Natural irrigation is expected in this part of the country. No one seems to even own a lawn sprinkler but the riding power mowers are always working.
Lots of geese, ducks, and those interesting loons with their musical call. We are told that the greatest threat to baby waterfowl is turtles. Imagine that. I guess the turtles get bored with the vegetarian diet and go for a little protein. Like, chicken salad. Everyone picks up after their dog but no one picks up after the geese. Kick one in the butt to get a visit from the Mounties.
The lock masters are in contact with each other by cell phone. They advise the following lock of any potential traffic. Generally, we find the lock set in our favor with the doors open and two friendly, chatty lock keepers on hand to help. The Buckhorn lock was a bit disappointing. The lock master there is a power-tripper. He lets you know whose lock it is and who is in complete control and in his own sweet time. Once that piece of business is addressed, he turns friendly. Curiously enough, he didn't sound French. The lift lock at Peterborough is a marvel especially considering it is rather ancient engineering which is a thought that stuck in my conscientiousness while sitting in my boat that was, in turn, sitting in a tub of water with seven storeys of air underneath. We had plenty of time to take pictures because they announced on the PA system that there would be a slight delay for some reason or another and I had even more time to contemplate our rather precarious position. Remembering a time and circumstances when I made similar delay announcements, I immediately changed the subject with myself. The thing eventually worked flawlessly, it seemed. If it didn't, I don't want to know about it. There are tour boats that go back and forth through that thing on a daily schedule. I still think it's an unnatural act. Canada Day came and went while we were moored in another nice, quiet lock near the town. The Ashburnham lock is run by a very energetic female that is almost embarrassingly accommodating, doing everything to serve her customers. She obviously enjoys her work even though the lock is one of those not yet electrified that keeps her hopping and cranking and pushing the necessary mechanical actuators. A fifteen minute walk for groceries and a well-stocked marine chandlery that even had the right stuff to glue the seam on the dinghy. My dinghy now goes, "doink!" But no propane. All of Canada seems to be trapped by the propane tank exchange scheme. No one refills and our tank is empty. The tank is one of those refillable permanent mounts found on vehicles rather than on BBQ's. I am trying to avoid the option taking the tank by taxi to a propane dealer - if there is such a thing here. Temporarily, we heat things on a briefcase sized folding camp stove that uses those small, disposable propane tanks. Our proposed departure for Hastings Lock from this moorage was postponed because of an Ironman thing they were having that day with the swimming part closing the lake for a while. Later, at Hastings we found a cruisers bonanza. A laundromat was less than a block away. The grocery store was 100 yards further. I loaded the propane tank on my dock cart and walked two blocks for a refill. Also found was a WiFi spot. Something is wrong with my account at Verizon and I can receive but not send email. I am not willing to call them by phone and be put on hold at 65 cents per minute even if the cell phone would be accepted by the local net. Contact by internet gets me a robot answer with useless references to things I already know or have tried and are no help. I have found a way around the problem but it takes a lot of time. My outgoing email may be delayed a week or more. All our navigation charts are in the computer - no paper. This could be a problem if the computer gets uncooperative. So far, it has misbehaved only one time when it got stuck in the hibernate cycle. No matter what I did, the thing would start normally and then go to hibernate and freeze despite my earnest expressions of encouragement and threats of retribution using the choicest computer programming terms. The last-resort repair disc was successful in resurrection. If this were not canals, rivers, and lakes; I would be forced to spend the enormous sum that Canada demands for charts that the US offers for free. The crew has had the flu for 4 days but soldiering on and improving fast - but not fast enough for her. The captain remains well fed.
Sidney is still missing.
