Lake Champlain Final Chapter

Moving South Down Champlain

The weather was relentless; another day of threatening thunderstorms and south winds. We chose to hole up in Westport, NY across the lake and a bit farther south.

Once more, tied at the hip, we set out to perform periodic pesky perfunctory tasks - with great care. Allan and Bob changed engine oil and filters.

Jeanne scrubbed the weeks of muddy water stains off the bootstripe. 

Bob succumbed to Jeanne's pleas for an external water connection and spent the afternoon sputtering. Now how hard could that be? Pretty darn hard actually, ... and frustrating ... BUT HE DID IT! And from now on whenever they tie up at a dock they can wash dishes using copious amounts of water and take proper showers.

Jeanne played Cinderella (with kneepads) and scrubbed the main deck under Allan's tutelage. He swears by Oxiclean powder and lots of water; never scrubbing with the grain. (Well ... almost never.) Sally took pictures and polished the bulwarks.

Applying Jeanne's and Bob's methods of rating a good town, we searched for coffee, baked goods, and ice cream. Fortunately, we found Ernie's, the only game in this small town.

Coffee had to be pumped, but the bakery fare made up for it. Ice cream? No hat trick here.

But Jeanne made some interesting observations. Note the curtains on the exterior side of the windows. What would Martha Stewart say?

Every yard needs a parade-ready legendary lake monster. Champ is Lake Champlain's version of Nessie, with over 300 reported sightings dating back to local native American tribes.

  
And Allan liked this statement of days gone by. We checked and found a dial tone.  Is there anyone reading this blog who does not know what this is?

Westport had a nice town beach. It was hot. We had finally made it into summer and Moxie took to the water like Champ. As a puppy she learned to swim in the salty Atlantic. In Champlain she soon learned she could both swim and drink the fresh water. It came in handy while stick fetching.

She also likes wrestling sticks away from her owner ...

... and digging halfway to China to bury them.

Westport provided a nice respite. Nice marina, nice people, and nice sunsets.

We spent two weeks exploring this beautiful lake, cruising the entire 125-mile length. Had we not been with Bill and Keefer on that very first day and we cruised into a tiny harbor to find Art Cohn aboard the CW Churchill we might never have developed an avid interest in the history and heritage of the lake, visited the Lake Champlain Maritime Museum, and learned of the 300 historic boats sitting on the floor. It was with a tinge of sadness as we passed under the Champlain Bridge and headed for the lower reaches.

Still technically the lake, the lower end became a skinny channel lined with marshes. The hills receded while farms and the railroad remained along the winding route.

And suddenly around the last bend the first lock of the Champlain Canal appeared, marking the end of the lake. We locked through and tied to the wall for the night. Stay tuned.

But one more Moxie moment. The dog days of summer had finally arrived and Moxie proudly show ed off her doggie paddle.