Motivations
I am no Freya Hoffmeister or Justine Curgenven. I consider myself an
intermediate-level kayaker and kayaking has become a focal point of the
recreation time that my husband and I spend together, to the point that when he
proposed to me he asked if I wanted an engagement kayak (a clear-coated carbon
fiber beauty that appealed to the Mechanical Engineer in me) rather than an
engagement ring. I chose the ring, but there have been times I have questioned
my decision. Our first date was a paddle on the Pacific swells outside Mission
Bay in San Diego. We spent our first Thanksgiving together kayak camping at Lake
Meade, where we almost eloped. We kayaked Lake Meade in 120 degree heat for our
honeymoon, promising each other that we would eventually go somewhere “vacationy”
instead.
That ended up being kayaking camping the Exumas in the Bahamas. You
may sense a theme here. My expedition from New York to New Brunswick via the
inland route was my first solo kayaking trip. It was not overwhelmingly
technically difficult, although I had my fair share of scary moments from violent
squalls to whales breaching right next to me. I don’t believe that I broke any
particularly new ground. The important thing about the expedition is what it
meant to me personally to kayak 1,200 solo miles.
After four years at the United States Naval Academy followed by 6 years as an
active duty Marine Corps Officer and two combat deployments to Iraq, I left the
service as a Captain in June 2011. I was not sure about many things, but I knew
that I was ready to “go feral and take to the woods” in the form of an outdoor
expedition.
I needed to get away from who I had been for the last 10 years, and
set a goal for myself and succeed on my own terms, knowing that only my own
effort and resources were the reason for my success. I needed time to sort out
what I wanted from life and to think about things that did not relate to how to
organize for a military mission. From the moment I chose the Academy, and then
the Marine Corps, I had been completely consumed with achieving whatever mission
had been assigned to me; I rarely, if ever, had time to contemplate and stop
worrying. Finally, and perhaps, most importantly, after 10 years of wrapping my
hair tightly into a regulation bun that wouldn’t interfere with my Kevlar helmet,
I wanted purple hair.
In his amazing fashion my husband was fully supportive and encouraged me to take
the plunge. After we went on kayaking trips to Lake Champlain and subsequently
the Saint Lawrence River Thousand Islands my husband had drawn a thin red line on
Google Earth that extended from New York City up the Hudson River to the
Champlain Canal through Lake Champlain up the Richelieu River to the Saint
Lawrence River to the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. I jumped at the idea and decided
that would be the perfect outlet for me.
Planning and Preparation
Planning the Route
The planning and preparation for the trip occurred on a condensed timeline due to
procrastination and wavering doubts about undertaking such an involved trip solo.
There were also the added complications of out-processing from the Marine Corps.
I planned my launch three days after getting my discharge on June 1st in order to
meet my drop dead date in the last weekend in August. The route structure was
well suited to my schedule since the easier parts would come first, allowing me
to get in shape paddling the length of the Hudson River before reaching the more
difficult waters of Lake Champlain and then the biggest challenge on the Saint
Lawrence River. In that month-long period, as I trained doing longer paddles,
there was a definite division of labor between my husband and I to accomplish the
necessary planning and preparations. The most difficult piece of the planning
puzzle was route planning. There were several tools and references that were
critical. I drew data from websites, Google Earth images to spot camping spots,
water trails organizations, books, charts, cruising guides, and phone calls to
facilities. I couldn’t find anyone that had covered the whole route, and there
were significant stretches were there was no information at all for kayakers.
Camping spots accessible from the water were my biggest worry, but locations of
potable water and food resupply were also vital. The three water trails along
the route, Hudson River Water Trail, Lake Champlain Water Trail, and the Saint
Lawrence Route Blue Water Trail provided much of the required information but
there were significant gaps, specifically along stretches of the Hudson River,
the entire Richelieu River and the Saint Lawrence River from Sorel, QC to just
past Trois Rivieres, QC. Another difficulty stemmed from the fact that the
excellent Route Blue provided information only in French. This resulted in long
periods on Google translating the extensive and detailed paddling guide and
sifting through it to create a product that I could use. This should have been a
hint to brush up on my French prior to reaching Quebec, but I was stuck on the
concept of anglophone Canada. Surely everyone would be bi-lingual! I was to
find later on that the tricolor flag with a gold star at the top left was a sure
sign that Acadian warmth and friendliness would more than make up for the
language barrier.
The night before leaving Virginia to launch in New York I had a good plan. There
were waypoints on my GPS for all known and assumed camping spots, marinas and
food/potable water resupply locations. It appeared that there were very few
stretches along the route where I would not find the support I needed. The
reality was not even close to the pretty picture I developed on the map! I had
the chart package and tide charts for my entire route on my GPS as well as all of
the waterproof charts for the Hudson River through Lake Champlain. I was
planning on purchasing the Canadian charts from marinas as I moved through Canada
since the Canadian Hydrographic Survey (CHS) does not allow vendors to replicate
charts as NOAA does. I also brought along several cruising guides to ensure that
I had too much information as opposed to not enough.
I had been worried about using the lock systems along the Champlain Canal and the
Richelieu River. Through websites and phone calls I determined that kayaks were
allowed in all X locks along my route, but that the locks on the Champlain and
Chambly Canals were affected by the record flooding that had taken place a few
weeks prior. After talking to representatives of the Lake Champlain Water trail,
however, the prognosis was grim. There had been extensive damage along the
shores of the lake and many campsites were under several feet of water. I
tracked water level trends on the NOAA website and made some basic calculations,
figuring that the water levels would recede sufficiently by the time I reached
the affected area. Perhaps the best piece of news I got was that the New York
Canal System Operator allowed kayakers to camp at the locks which solved the
dilemma of where to stay along the x mile stretch of the Champlain Canal. By the
time I started my trip I had memorized all of the procedures for how to lock
through but that in no way eased the panic and nervousness that I felt that rainy
June morning when I paddled up to my first lock. Crossing the border into Canada
at the northern tip of Lake Champlain where it meets the Richelieu River seemed
relatively simple; I packed my passport and several forms of identification, all
photocopied and stored in separate dry bags.
Equipment
As a kayaking family we have a large amount of equipment, but there were several
new gear purchases that were necessary since we usually only carried one each of
communication devices. I purchased a personal locator beacon, a VHF radio (after
getting my Canadian VHF operator’s permit on-line), flares, and a new MsFIT Tour
PFD. My husband put together a massive first aid kit that would hopefully cover
every eventuality. I had the ability to tourniquet three limbs with CAT-5 combat
tourniquets (an amazing tourniquet that works for any limb and can be operated
with one hand by the injured person) and cauterize a gaping wound with QuickClot.
I beefed up our basic repair kit for any possible exigencies. Probably as a
result of a combined six combat deployments my husband and I plan for the
absolute worst case, hence the focus on safety equipment. In order to keep my
batteries, iPOD, VHF radio, headlamp, cameras, and phone charged we purchased a
Goal Zero Guide 10 portable solar charger, which proved to be amazing. When I
was further into my trip we supplemented my capabilities with a Goal Zero Sherpa
kit that could hold 50 watt-hours along with a larger solar panel. Another piece
of gear that became very necessary after my first test pack out was a deck bag,
which turns out is like having a really great purse for your kayak!
Food and Water
Since I am the self-appointed kayak camping chef in the family, planning the food
menu was the easiest part of preparation.
I had initially hoped to carry three
weeks of food but after the practice pack out I downgraded the estimate to two
weeks while trying to keep a good variety. However, no shortage of packing space
would make me cut my supply of coffee, chocolate, and gummy bears, which every
good kayaker knows are necessary for any trip. Additional supplements included
energy bars, fruit energy chews, and Gatorade mix to combat what were sure to be
long hot days spent on the water. I had the ability to carry X liters of water
at a time and carried a water purifier as well. I also had extra food set aside
for pre-built resupply packages that my husband could send me throughout the
trip.
The Kayak
My original choice of kayak for the trip was my fiberglass Current Designs
Cypress kayak with a light layup which I had been paddling for the last year.
However after “Pack Out Day” a week before the trip I was left with a completely
full boat and a laundry basket full of dry bags, gear, and food left over. We
unpacked the kayak and weighed everything and the gear along with my body weight
was right at the max load of 300 pounds. I was genuinely sad that I would not be
taking the Cypress but I decided the “Yellow Dragon”, a stout and reliable
rotomolded Wilderness Tempest 170, was the better bet. All the equipment fit
rather nicely in the Tempest 170 and the insanely comfortable cockpit was a huge
bonus. I made a detailed load plan on note cards that helped me keep items I was
going to use every night in the back hatch and meant that the kayak was
reasonably balanced.
Of course, the day prior to departing Virginia, I had my hair dyed a very pretty
plum color.
NEED TO ADD - GEAR LIST, REFERENCE LIST, TRIP PLANNER, EQUIPMENT USED
Day 1 to Day 7: The Hudson River – 150 Miles, “It’s Going to take me a little
while to warm up.”
Just after eight in the morning on June 4th, 2011 I launched from Scenic Hudson
Park (Lat/Long) in Irvington, New York. Scenic Hudson Park was located right on
the Hudson River two miles south of the Tappan Zee Bridge and was a quiet,
convenient location to start the journey.
I wanted to launch north of Manhattan
to avoid boat congestion, especially on my first day of paddling with a fully
loaded kayak. It took less than an hour to pack the kayak after having practiced
the week prior. Suddenly, I had snapped my spray skirt shut and my husband was a
rapidly receding dot on the shore. After having been separated for most of our
first year of marriage due to my second deployment to Iraq I couldn’t help
thinking that I was crazy for voluntarily leaving my husband for months.
Each stroke took tremendous effort and I felt like I was paddling through
caramel. It was difficult to decide whether it was more difficult to propel 300
pounds of woman, gear, and kayak through the water or to be setting off
completely on my own. My initial plan was to keep the first day short and paddle
ten miles to Croton Point (Lat/Long), but those ten miles flew by with the help
of my iPod and a desire not to stop and think about my husband or the fact that I
had over a thousand miles of paddling in front of me. I just put my head down
and kept paddling 33 miles, the second longest distance I had ever kayaked in one
day.
The river was relatively narrow and the landscape quickly changed from industrial
and urban and opened up to high cliff faces, forests, rocky shores and numerous
small coves. Barges pushed along by low tug boats and freighters moved nearly
silently through the main channel generating huge wakes and the occasional train
sped along the banks of the river. Between the waterfront town of Verplank and
Fort Montgomery I was treated to an air show by Army Blackhawk helicopters
practicing flying “nap of the earth”, swooping low over the water and then
quickly building altitude to go over the surrounding cliffs. The hours of
paddling literally “flew by.”
As it got later in the afternoon I took a break along with a father and his three
children in a triple kayak at the Fort Montgomery picnic area (Lat/Long). I
realized that I was not going to be able to paddle to the next authorized camping
location on the Hudson River Water Trail so I started looking for alternatives.
The process of finding a “commando camping” spot became a particular skill of
mine throughout the trip, although this was much easier along the Saint Lawrence
in Quebec due to Acadian hospitality.
I paddled past West Point on the bluffs
overlooking the river, almost as if it was standing guard, and I yelled out a “Go
Navy, Beat Army!” for old time’s sake, my voice echoing off of Storm King
Mountain. With evening quickly approaching I stopped at Foundry Dock Park
(Lat/Long), but I met a fellow kayaker taking his boat out of the water that
promised a ‘white sand beach and a great place to camp’ a mile north. I took his
advice and landed at Little Stony Point (Lat/Long) for my first camp site.
The first night was rough as I met the challenge of setting up camp, cooking, and
securing gear on my own. I woke up ten times positive that I was going to be
murdered, and that my kayak was going to float away during the night. The next
morning brought the realization that I had taken the first step in “MY journey”,
and had survived my first night despite an adventurous crew of squirrels making
some disturbing noises outside of my tent. I felt free and powerful and
absolutely ready to keep going.
I had set a closer target for the second day since I was sore and needed an early
infusion of caffeine and ibuprofen. I followed Wappinger Creek to the Franny
Reese Park (Lat/Long) and was dismayed to find that reaching the Hudson River
Trail camping location was going to involve moving my kayak up a 30 degree
incline, across a road, and 400 meters up a hill. This is also where I found
that people love to watch a kayaker lug a boat over difficult terrain. There must
be some perverse pleasure in seeing this particular brand of struggle. I
deadlifted the rear of my kayak onto my strap-on kayak wheels which promptly sunk
into the soft ramp and took the next thirty minutes to drag my kayak to the
closest tenable camping spot while two teenage boys watched me from inside their
car. I was thankful for months of Crossfit and years in the Marine Corps, but
this scene would replay itself throughout my entire kayak trip with different
scenery and observers, but always came with smirks and stares as I heaved my
kayak to a camp site.
I grasped the importance of the tides as I fought an ebb tide the next day. I
reached Poughkeepsie and slid under its two bridges, one of which is a beautiful
suspension bridge which looks like it is holding court over the river and the
other one which is an old railway bridge converted into a pedestrian walkway.
After a twenty mile paddle I arrived at Esopus Island and found a great camping
area (Lat/Long) right off the water. That evening I lay in the warmth of the
late afternoon sun with my solar panels charging batteries and my iPod, writing
in my journal as I watched Great Lakes freighters moving along the river, their
wakes sending crashing waves to the shore of my campsite. This is what I wanted.
My own island, with nothing to worry about except for the weather, the water, and
myself.
I had learned my lesson over the last few days and was planning paddling around
the tides. With the Hudson River being tidal all the way to the first lock, I
stopped trying to fight the tides and just accepted that I had to adjust my
schedule to the river’s. I was beginning to understand the rhythm of the water
and weather around me, which made me more efficient, faster, and happier.
Historic Kingston (Lat/Long) was a worthy stop and I stretched my legs along the
historic waterfront. The experience of eating a deliciously greasy and salty
meal while chatting to whoever happened to be around became one of the best parts
of the trip. There was always the incredulous “Where did you say you were
going?”, which turned into “Where did you come from?” later in the trip. This
always brought a smile to my face as the asker plotted the route in his or her
head. That afternoon I landed at Turkey Point (Lat/Long), and set up my tent
next to what ended up being a large patch of poison ivy; I would spend the
majority of the Champlain Canal and Lake Champlain paying for that mistake, but
luckily my overflowing first aid kit contained everything necessary to treat the
problem.
I believe that the first four days had been too easy and that day five was there
to keep me on my toes and remind me that the challenges were not going to stop
for the remainder of this trip. The morning began in such an idyllic way with a
morning spent riding a strong flood tide across the glassy smooth surface of the
Hudson with not a soul on the water to ruin the solitude. The cormorants stared
quizzically at the girl in the yellow kayak singing away to the “Fleetwood Mac
Tribute Morning” (repeated numerous times throughout the trip, damn straight that
“She can go her own way”) and I felt absolutely weightless for the first time in
a long time. The realization struck me that I have nothing to worry about except
for my own survival and propelling my kayak and me along on this journey. I felt
like I was on top of the world and of course that’s when the tide changes, the
sun rises to full sky with zero clouds in sight, the wind stops, and I’m paddling
through the dullest part of the Hudson River, “The Flats.” The Green Flats and
the Upper Flats lie just North of Malden-on-Hudson, and all I can remember is
that the land was flat, the water was flat, and my kayak really did feel like it
was not moving at all. By the time that I made it upriver to Athens, New York for
a break and lunch, I was drained and no longer enjoying the carefree delight that
I had reveled in just hours previously. That afternoon I had my first
introduction to the power of the wake caused by the large commercial ships.
Approximately a mile south of Stockton Middle Ground Island I looked behind me to
see that a large container ship had snuck up on me with its silent engines
chugging away and was gaining quickly on me. Although I was outside of the main
shipping channel, the river was going around a bend and narrowing to less than
half a mile. I decided to stick close to the shore but not leave the water.
What a bad decision. I remember seeing the wake from the large ships on the
Saint Lawrence River by the Thousand Island area and watch the water violently
sucked out from sure and then explosively pushed back into the shore. Well,
needless to say, the exact same thing happened on this day but due to narrowness
of the river and the speed of that damn container ship, it was amplified and I
became part of the violent sucking out and it threw me back into the sand beach
followed by some crushing waves. I bailed from the yellow dragon as fast as I
could and pulled my kayak with a cockpit full of water as far up the shore as I
could as the wake crashed a couple times. The only thing that made this incident
better was the teenaged boy down the shore watching this whole debacle with a
stunned look on his face. It only took me once to learn this lesson and for the
remainder of the journey I avoided the shoreline when the commercial ship wake’s
were around! BBC Austria… I will not forget you and your mean wake!
I approached my designated stopping point for the day, Stockton Middle
Ground Island, I found many of the camping sites occupied and a large group of
partying college kids so I pushed to the next peninsula on the east side of the
river, Hudson River Islands State Park and found exactly what I was looked for.
The park boasted several established campsites located right over a fine sand
beach with views overlooking the river, which would have been perfect for
watching the sunset that evening but there was a very different night in store
for me. Soon after landing on my sand beach the sky started to darken, the
weather radio was calling for thunderstorms in the area, and I hustled to get my
tent set up and my kayak closed up for the night. As the huge droplets of water
descended on the beach I was able to barely make it into my tent and the hail
began. As each quarter sized piece of ice smashed into my little one person
tent, the tent would indent. Not to mention the howling wind that was trying
it’s best to blow up the tent and the lightening that looked like it was going to
hit right outside my tent. I spent over five hours that night, crouched in my
tent staring out at the storm and hoping that I wasn’t going to be hit by
lightning and enjoying a multicolored dinner of melted together gummy bear and
chocolate while reveling in reaching my 100 mile mark.
Due to continuing thunderstorms, day six was light and short which made up
for another sleepless night of lightening and severe thunderstorms. My final day
on the Hudson River held a long day of paddling with the excitement and dread of
traversing through the industrial capital city of Albany, New York and the first
lock, the Troy Federal Lock. It was exhilarating to make my way along a major
city in my kayak and was definitely dwarfed by large commercial ships pier-ed
along the river offloading and on loading containers, ores, and fuels. I also
ran into my friend, BBC Austria, and cursed his name! The waterfront Albany
boasted some large parks and I spent several miles counting the bridges of seven
(or eight) bridges of Albany. The day of paddling was a slog to the finish which
ended up being a commando camp site on Adams Island, a very small island directly
south of the lock where I landed as the sun was setting and set up camp in the
dark.
That night was a mixture of nightmares about my kayak being sucked into
the bottom of the lock like a water swirling out of a bathtub only to be
interrupted by my alarm going off in 30 min intervals until 0200 (the high tide
mark) to make sure that my kayak was high enough up the shore. The persistent
worrying that my kayak would float away during the night never ended, and there
was barely a night throughout my journey when I didn’t awake several times to
check it.
Day 8 to Day 11: The Champlain Canal 60 miles (“Lock 5 this is Lock 4, here comes
The Girl in the Yellow Kayak”)
The morning arose with gray clouds, a constant sprinkling, and a craving for
hot coffee and an omelet. After the realization that the rain was not going to
stop and that my hot breakfast was not going to appear, I packed up camp in the
rain while eating cold granola with dried milk. I desperately hoped that the
route would produce a coffee shop at some point. I launched from my little
island and started my paddle towards the lock hoping that my kayak was not going
to be pulled into the area where the falls were cordoned off with cement blocks.
I pulled out my VHF radio using all my radio experience gleaned from being a
convoy commander when serving in Iraq, I transmitted, “Troy Federal Lock, This is
the yellow kayak approaching from your south and requesting permission to lock
though.” The large doors of the lock slowly crawled open, the lights turned
green, and the lock operator instructed me to enter the lock. As I paddled into
the cement lined tunnel shaped device, I couldn’t help but recall my nightmares
from the previous night. I paddled to the front of the X foot lock and grabbed
onto a ladder on the right side for dear life and waited for the whirlpool to
begin. Then much to my surprise the some little bubbles came up near the middle
of the lock and the water slowly started to inch up. Every couple seconds I
would move my hands up the ladder as the water rose the x feet and after about
five minutes and white knuckles, I was done and the doors at the far end of the
lock slowly, creakingly opened and I was done. After all my worrying, that was
all there was to it. As I paddled out of the lock, on the west side you can see
the water flowing over the dam and I paddled as close to the east side of the
river in order to avoid it. At this point I have left the tidal Hudson that has
been my home for the first week of my journey and begin my journey along the
canalled portion of the Hudson River, known as the Champlain Canal.
Immediately to the north of Troy Federal Lock is the town of Waterford, NY
where a large sign on the river points to the left for the Erie Canal and to the
right for the Champlain Canal, and the next stage of the journey has begun.
The Champlain Canal consists partially of locks located along the Hudson
River that raises the boater up in elevation at each lock. This narrow region of
the Hudson rises in elevation x feet total until lock seven at which point the
Champlain Canal deviates from the Hudson River and consists of a man dug and
dredged canal for the next x miles until lock twelve at Whitehall, NY which marks
the end of the Champlain Canal and the beginning of the narrowest section of Lake
Champlain. Additionally, in order to maintain the draft along the canal there
was active dredging being conducted on the canal as I passed through.
Each lock operates pretty much the same and after the excitement of the
first one, is usually just a convenient break and chance to hydrate before
paddling on. What ended up being the best part of the Champlain Canals might
possibly be the lock operators who operate each of the eleven (?) locks and were
all great people. I ended up camping at Locks four, nine, and twelve during my
four days spent on the canal. Each time the lock operators offered to help me,
and gave me information about water, restrooms, and lights. I even had one lock
operator check on me before he left for the evening and expressed concern as a
female kayaking and camping alone. At each lock the operators would ask me if I
was continuing on and would call the following lock to alert them of my pending
arrival and at some of the locks, the lock would be opening for me as I paddled
up. Apparently the lock operators also told boaters along the way about the girl
in the yellow kayak who was trying to kayak to PEI so that there were boaters who
offered me assistance along the way and already knew my story when they met me.
I could not have felt more taken care of along this stretch, those lock operators
are truly a credit to the Champlain Canal!
What the Champlain Canal lacks in exciting water conditions, it makes up in
historic charm in the form of several old fort towns (namely Fort Edward, Fort
Miller, Fort Ann), well maintained lock parks perfect for picnics, and several
small towns. During my stay at the Schuylerville Yacht Basin, the owners went
out of their way to make sure I knew where to find a good meal, take a warm
shower, and issued me warnings about the effects of flooding on the upcoming Lake
Champlain. The effects of the record water levels were obvious even along the
canal and could be seen at Schuylerville and Whitehall.
By the time I reached Whitehall on the eleventh day, I had reached my limit
of canal kayaking and I was more than ready for the Lake Champlain that I had
loved from my previous trip there with my husband. And, although I’ll deny I
said it, I was craving some rougher water! As I departed the Champlain Canal, not
only was I x miles along in my journey, but I was down both a fork and spoon.
Both were unsuspecting casualties of trying to eat and paddle at the same time,
the fork with the cold pasta and the spoon with the breakfast couscous. While
this seems trivial, as I ate meals for the next day and half with a bent metal
tuna lid until I could procure new ones, it did affect morale.
Day 12 to Day 21: Lake Champlain to Richelieu River 130 miles (“Closed?…What do
you mean the Chambly Canal is closed?”)
My first day on Lake Champlain began early with a glassy narrow lake that
bore the signs of a lot of rainfall and severe flooding. From the moment I began
my paddle, the signs were obvious from trees that were underwater from the bottom
of their trunks up to where their limbs branched out to shorelines that were very
much covered. The extent of the flooding became obvious my first day on the Lake
when not one but two of my planned camping sites for the day were covered in
water to the point that there was no place to even land and the markers
signifying the site were on trees that bore a water mark several feet up their
trunks. This led to a good 28 miles my first day in order to get me back in the
grove of paddling a real body of water. Unfortunately this was a common theme
throughout my days on Lake Champlain.
Despite the extra water, it was the Lake Champlain of my memories and
shorelines were explosions of every shade of green ambling over the rolling hills
that lead to cliff faces, jutting slabs of rocks, and the widening of the lake
from its narrow start to where it begins to open up around Crown Point.
Lake Champlain was as I remembered a kayaking mecca, and the Lake Champlain
Water Trail does an admirable job of creating a body of water that is perfect for
both day kayaking and extended kayaking trips. I swapped my time on both sides
of Lake Champlain and visited both Vermont and New York.
After 15 days in to the trip, I was only through about three quarters of my
food provisions, so I had over-planned on what two weeks of food would be, which
is way better than being short especially where food is concerned. I was also
caught by surprise that after two weeks I had already completed x miles, and was
done with the Hudson River, Champlain Canal, and more than half of Lake
Champlain. As I enjoyed a remote campsite of the north side of Valcour Island, I
conducted some key logistical planning with the help of my remote planner, my
husband. First was the decision of where to receive my first resupply packages
at since I was less than three full kayaking days from entering Canada. At the
time the Canadian Postal System was on strike at the time which would have made
receiving packages in Canada more difficult and not to mention expensive. The
decision was made to take a couple days south of the border crossing at the
Ruthcliffe Lodge on Isle La Motte, VT in order to receive my food and gear
resupplies as well as get some quality rest.
On a whim, I also called the Parks Canada office for the Chambly Canal to
ensure they were operating by the time I reached that section of the Richelieu
River. I honestly had not considered the possibility that they would still be
closed due to flooding, but that was not the case at all. I quickly found that
all of the x locks on the Chambly Canal were stilled closed for repair and their
opening date was tbd at that point but they were “hoping that they would be
opened soon” and to call back in four days. The thoughts entering my head ranged
from: “I really miss my husband and it might be nice if I was forced to end
early” to “I wonder if he loves me enough to come pick me up and drive me around
the entire Chambly Canal” to “Hell no I’m not giving this up just because I meet
an obstacle.” Well as you can imagine, I started to look at options around that
stretch of the Richilieu River, basically a ten mile stretch where the Chambly
Canal deviates boaters around changes in elevations and some gnarly looking
rapids (I know this from having later seen them in person). So I googled
‘chambly Canal,’ ‘kayak,’ and ‘Richelieu River’ and came up with a website for
Enviro Kayak, a kayak company that sells and rents kayaks as well as conducting
kayak trips. I had the luck to talk to Michel, an extremely nice Québécois man
who spoke amazing English, and confirmed that I would need to find a way around
that section and then offered to give me a ride from Lock one to the Chambly
Canal. I was amazed that he would offer such help to a stranger who called him
on the phone and told him a crazy story about kayaking from NY to PEI, but he did
and in doing so re-committed me to this crazy goal. As I was reminded numerous
times on my trip, there are such kind, caring people out there who will help a
random girl with purple hair to reach a goal.
So with two huge logistical problems out of the way, I enjoyed three days of
relaxation on Isle La Motte eating back all my lost calories, cleaning out my
kayak, and getting ready to meet our neighbors to the north!
Day 22 to Day 25: Richelieu River 85 miles (RVs and the Chambly)
Day X to Day X: Saint Lawrence River Sorel to Le Petit Floride
Day X to Day X:
Saint Lawrence River (Beginning of Route Blue)
Day X to DayX: Saint Lawrence River
Day X to Day X: New Brunswick
(Gaspesie)