Blog 8: Rowing down Lake Champlain

Dear Friends and Family:

We started our rowing expedition on Grand Isle, sleeping on the western shore. That night "Emily2" arrived, that is, Emily Hughes and Emily Turner.  We, in a hurried feat of organization and insanity, did all the work of a full layover in a single afternoon, allowing Pasha to return to Kroka with the canoes early the next morning.

Meeting our boats for the first time

The rowboats arrived around lunch the next day, but to call them such does not do them justice. We were given Saint Ayles skiffs (the Perseverance and the Resilience) and a pilot gig (the American Shad) by the Lake Champlain Maritime Museum. They have a program for students who struggle in a traditional school setting which allows the high schoolers to build magnificent boats which we have used for the past 14 days. I took charge of the white and blue Resilience, Cat took the navy and red Perseverance, and Jamie the yellow and blue American Shad. As captains we were in charge of keeping our crafts shipshape by coiling ropes, checking oars and pins, loading and unloading, and singing the boats ashore with the Norwegian songs that Emily Turner taught to us. With anywhere from six to fifteen people on a boat, we would lift it clear of the waterline each night and set her on shore, safe from the winds and waves.

Our path was somewhat roundabout as we rowed first northwards to Burton Island before swinging through Grand Island to Valcour island on the other side of the lake. There we stayed for a prolonged liveover, learning about the Battle of Valcour Island while sitting right on the shore where it happened. The liveover truly felt like heaven; we spent days swimming in the freezing water, wandering the island, and learning the history of the land and lake we traveled. Nights were spent sleeping under the stars in whichever flat spot we could find. Some of us began to rise early. Sunrise would find a scattering of silent figures, perched on rocks and in trees, watching it creep to our land.

Trillium found during our wildflower identification class using dichotomous keys 

From there we continued our journey south, spending a night at Caw Island which was full of ramps - type of wild onion - scones, and stories. Leaving early the next morning, we set off down the coast to Rock Point School, just north of Burlington. There we found a warm welcome, and just in time too! It seemed that the instant we were all settled into the Chapel that they let us stay in, the rain poured down.

Rock Point marked the first time we had been around another group of people our own age -- ones who had not spent the last four months learning every quirk and gesture that each of us had. But after dodgeball, we were given the time to get to know the Rock Point students better, sitting, laughing, playing music. All too soon we were moving on again as Emily H. left us to return to Kroka. As we reached the beach where we left our boats we realized a new challenge.

Covering the lake was a blanket opaque white fog as far as the eye could see (which, coincidentally wasn't more than 200 yards due to fog). But after taking a bearing to our next campsite, we set off nonetheless, the shore swiftly disappearing. The world was reduced, softened and encircled by the shifting whiteness and the other ships, always carefully kept in view became ghosts of themselves. The clacking oarlocks and the murmur of voices were markers in the clouds come to earth. Soon the wind picked up and the fog lifted, but those moments of quiet remain engraved in my memory.

We reached Shelburne Farms around lunchtime and were greeted by Marshall Webb. After quickly setting camp, we set off to explore. We found homes that looked like castles, endless fields of the greenest grass, and herds of Brown Swiss cows ranging on the land. Upon our return to camp, we found that the wind had picked up so much that it forced us inland a bit to a shelter behind a stand of trees. The next day we had math class, did some work on the farm pulling garlic mustard and gained Oliver, who showed up mid-morning to continue on the rowing journey with us.

"Toss your oars!"

Onward to Barn Rock and the Maritime Museum where we got to see a boat similiar to ours. Our first day there we helped them get ready for the start of their season. The next day was spent in the museum exhibits and cleaning artifacts found in Lake Champlain so that they could be preserved. At last, full of new knowledge, we found our way back to camp to prepare for the next adventure... a 36-hour fasting solo.

Cleaning artifacts

There is much that could be said about these: that we were sent out with naught but the clothes on our backs, sleeping bags, and footprints; that we were spread out from each other along the trail system; that we each found ourselves wrapped in our own contemplations; and yet, solos are highly personal and defy easy overviews. Each of us came back with stories and a new sense of ourselves.

The teachers greeted us with a wonderful feast as we set off once more to Crown Point where ice cream and fortress awaited us. We left as the sunset, rowing into the gathering darkness. Affixing headlamps to bow and stern, we slipped silently through inky water that reflected the stars along with us. We reached our camp at Five Miles Point very late, and simply set out our sleeping bags and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day brought us to Fort Ticonderoga. Unlike Crown Point, Ticonderoga was fully preserved, with a few historical reenactors working around all in the fort, friendly and willing to share with us the history of the area.

We rowed most of the following day, fighting a headwind. Nonetheless, spirits were high in the boast as the sky cleared and the sun shone down on us, encouraging us to slow down and appreciate the osprey nests in the bays, the marsh grasses at the edges of the river, and the trains passing by us. Camp set was followed by free time, so five of us took out one of the boats and went swimming, relishing the feeling of cold water and hot sun.

We set off into a slight headwind the next morning, rowing hard until we reached the lock at Whitehall, which spilled us into the canal and marked the end of our water journey.

Hazel at the lock

Of bikes, there is of course much to be said. I should tell you of the hills we have climbed, the farms we have visited, the beauty of lilacs just beginning to bloom. But I will not. Not yet, at least. You will have to wait the few short days until we are back at base camp. Yes, our expedition's end is drawing closer with every turn of the pedal, but somehow it seems that our journey is just beginning.