The temperature has dropped! Rain is steady and we are bundled up and ready to go at 7am for a day full of locks. We manage to do 16 locks today (1 on the Hudson, 15 Erie Canal) , a monumental effort. All the lock masters are interesting individuals. You spend 10-15 min with them so you build a bond. I wish I could describe each one in detail but I don’t have it in me (ZZ Top, jovial linebacker, avid kayaker, flirty Central European looking to move to CHS). They work for the state but thinking they come from Army Corps of Engineers, heavy on the Army. All are delightful to talk to and seem to enjoy their spots but give the impression they could take out a dictator or two. On the flip side, they love to do the hang 10 sign, and one gives Meade a coloring book. Consider me intrigued.
Day develops a pattern: beautiful run, approach lock, wait for entry, enter, hold lines, turn off engines, chat with lockmaster, crank up, do joystick wiggle test, exit, repeat. After 15 in the cold, we are pooped. The lockmaster at 14 (don’t forget the one on the Hudson =15) can tell this crew is fading. He tells me he called ahead to Lock 15 (count 16) and the one slip with power is available so he reserved it for us. Insert heart emojis.
The lockmaster at 15 is also a delight. He welcomes us into the lock and guides us to the slip waiting on the other side. The slip is cut into a public park on a rolling hill with picnic tables and peacocks strolling about. The stateliness of the lockmaster building gives it an extra bit of gravitas.
The kind lockmaster advises us of some spots in town to eat. We pull ourselves together and head in. As we walk down Main St, I am reminded of our many Southern towns that commerce has left behind but locals are still pumping full of love. There is some fantastic Victorian architecture. Some buildings are roped off with broken stained glass windows while others have been recently painted out, the details popping with contrasting paint colors. I hope whoever is TLC’ing these keeps up the good work.
We have a feast at the local pizza joint, the proprietor giving us pointers on what to get. As we walk back to the boat, an Amish horse cart passes, pulling into the Family Dollar. Guess everyone needs discount detergent.
For some reason, Wm decides to tackle the masthead tonight along with a few maintenance items. (Did I mention we’re exhausted?) We’re still looking for that fuse box and need to refill some antifreeze. We have contacted a captain for the Welland Canal so have that option if the masthead is too much. He and Mason head up to work on that while I work on stabilizing the pilothouse drop-down table for some cranky sleepers.
So the masthead is too much. Wm decides to confirm with the captain in the morning. He proceeds to take up all the floorboards to search for the fuse box. I am surrounded by boat guts. The children are ready to get cozy for the night as it has been a cold, wet day. Wm is knee deep in the hull as I start digging out extra blankets. Mason looks over and says in a sing song voice, “Camp Counselor Lucile is gone…there’s just a demon now..” Sounds about right. I’m fried.
Wm makes progress following electrical lines but they seem to go behind the microwave. We set that project aside and turn in for the night, cozied up under blankets with the windows open.
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