It never gets old. Really. Sometimes it seems like it should, but it still doesn't.

Here we are docked in the cool, little berg known as Fort Edward, NY, where there indeed was a British, French and Indian War fortification, named for a royal—Edward Augustus, the Duke of York and Albany, grandson of King George II and the younger brother of King George III. They called it a fort, and it was located on a bend in the river, but we are well above the fall line in Troy, NY, so the river would have been essentially unnavigable by anything larger than a canoe before locks were constructed here for the Champlain Canal. As such, it truly wouldn't have been a fort so much as a barracks or garrison. 

How we find ourselves here is relatively interesting, since the last week has had us traverse the stunning Hudson River from Croton-on-Hudson, NY to here, with some very nice, notable stops along the way. We weighed anchor off Croton Point on the morning of Wednesday, July 10—just a week ago—and began working our way north on the river. Once you get much north of there and cross the salt/fresh line, the river opens up to some beauty reminiscent of the fjords we recently saw on our cruise in Norway. 

Our first stop on this leg of the voyage was in Kingston, NY on the free (with meal purchase) dock at Ole Savannah Southern Table and Bar, a wonderful restaurant that we enjoyed very much. Once docked, we sidled up to the bar and asked the bartender if the two-hour dockage limit indicated on the signs applied to those skippers who intended to eat well and get thoroughly soused. He was so excited to have us there that he cut me off mid-sentence, as if to fully understand the question before it was asked, and informed us that we could, indeed, stay the night on the dock. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Stacey immediately set to ordering nearly every dish off of the happy hour bar menu (not to be confused with the restaurant menu which had many of the same items for considerably more money) while I enjoyed a lovely, local lager. 

After our meal, which came out on a large tray and resembling an order for at least four diners, we then took an evening stroll around Kingston to enjoy this historic waterfront town/deep(ish)-water port. Such a cool stop—oozing with undeniable maritime history and cool architecture.

The next morning, in an effort to wait out the ebb, we delayed our departure as long as we could, but could wait no more when the restaurant opened. We didn't want to be taking up their precious dock space during business hours, so we cast off just after 11AM, making slow turns toward Coxsackie, NY. I didn't bring the throttle up to our usual cruising speed of  7.4 knots STW (Speed ThroughWater) until we encountered slack-to-flood current in the mid-afternoon, carrying us onto Coxsackie's relatively new, free (though flimsy aluminum with nylon cleats) town dock at Riverside Park at just after 4PM. 

We settled in and prepared to meet our friends, Roger and Patsy (of m/y Gypsy Star, currently tied up at Atlantic Yacht Basin in Great Bridge, VA) who live in nearby Albany, at Patrick Henry's Waterfront Tavern. It was good to see them, and we all enjoyed a wonderful meal. I had an excellent fried chicken sandwich while the rest of the gathered masses enjoyed the gourmet pizzas (which were also very good—I did try a slice). The beer selection was also quite nice, satisfying our varied tastes quite well. 

After our meal, we parted company, allowing Stacey and me to enjoy a trudge around the village to see what it was all about. All told, it's a town that is clearly in the process of reinventing itself. It likely had its "boom" years in the late 19th to mid 20th century, followed by an extended period of "bust" years. There are now businesses starting to rehabilitate and repurpose dilapidated buildings, and I can see a time in a few years when Coxsackie Village will be an exceedingly charming stop. It's already a worthy stop with limited choices. 

The next morning saw us underway at 6AM enjoying the flood until we stopped at Donovan's Shady Harbor Marina in New Baltimore, NY for fuel, water, and a black water pump out. We arrived about 90 minutes before they opened, so we filled our potable water and showered while we waited. Fully serviced, we cast off before the flood was exhausted and we coasted as far as we could with it, pushing through Albany around slack, and pushing through the beginning of the ebb around the time we were entering the Federal Lock in Troy. 

This is where things got weird. We were following a Kadey-Krogen—about a 50' pilothouse trawler—into the lock. The skipper was running her VERY slow and was making very unpredictable moves. He pulled to starboard as though he thought he was in the chamber while still in the wider vestibule. He corrected his mistake and then started making way into the chamber, but pulled to starboard alongside the miter gate, as though he was intending to make fast to it. I picked up the VHF and encouraged him to proceed INTO the lock chamber. Ultimately he made his way in and made fast to the wall, we did the same, and a third boat tied up in the chamber on the wall opposite us. We all locked up, and transited out of the lock, the Krogen continuing to make odd moves, running slowly and erratically. We gave him a wide berth until he slowed to an almost crawl before some bridges where overtaking him would've been unwise. I again radioed him and informed him he was not in a "no-wake" zone, and implied I would overtake him if he wanted to remain at that speed. He informed me he would speed up, which he did. 

We finally arrived in Waterford, NY where we were intending to moor at the Erie Canal Visitor Center for the night. The Krogen, clearly intending to continue on, called the wrong lock (E-3) instead of the lock he was approaching (E-2). He caught his own mistake quickly and corrected himself. He then informed the lockmaster of his intention to lock up, which was acknowledged. He then proceeded to take up the entire fairway in front of the lock and the Visitor Center docks. I again called him to let him know we were intended to dock just forward of his position, and he offered to move out of the way, which he did. While we were docking, I heard him again call the lock to ask to lock through, and this time was told it would be 15-20 minutes before the lock would be ready. 

We docked and began to settle in. We paid our $10 in the office for shore power, and returned to the boat. A little while later, a fisherman walked by on the wall, saw me and asked, "Did you see that last boat that locked through?" I said that I had, and then was regaled with what happened with Captain Krogen after we stopped paying attention to his antics. In his excitement to get into the lock chamber, he piloted his vessel up close to the lock's miter gates. When the gates opened, he was SHOCKED(!) to be looking at a lock full of vessels wanting to get out of the lock. He panicked, and in his haste to get out of the way, he sideswiped a docked, steel trawler. Later, I learned from the Canadian owner of the steel trawler that Captain Crunch opened his wallet and offered $5,000 for the damages to keep the insurance companies out of it. The Canadian thought this gesture too generous and offered to take $4,000. Money changed hands, then the Krogen proceeded into the lock and disappeared from our sphere.

​The thing is, what we witnessed, I'm told, was not inexperience. That vessel and her master have completed the Great Loop at least once, and I'm told he talks a good game and has been boating for decades. Word is that his skills are almost certainly leaving him with his advancing years, and like grandma has to give up her car keys after a point, someone is really going to need to take this gent's yacht from him at some point, which is almost certainly why he didn't want to involve his insurance company. ​

In our time on the Waterford dock, we enjoyed a couple great meals at nearby McGreivey's Irish Pub, walked the bridge across the Hudson to the nearby Hannaford's for groceries and Walgreens for drugs for my still-persistent cough. I enjoyed "docktails" with the loopers on the dock on the second night. It was a good stop, but after two nights there it was time to move along. 

Sunday, July 14, we dropped lines and made our way back onto the Hudson River and pointed north to Lock C-1 of the Champlain Canal. It was a hot day and we are not in a hurry so we stopped after two locks and pulled onto the free wall in Mechanicville, NY. This wall also has free shore power and potable water. The entire wall was dusty and dirty, but everything worked. We got settled and went ashore to walk to the nearby hardware store where we bought knurled knobs for my helm chair and got keys made for our salon door's padlock. Upon returning to the boat, the keys didn't work, so I hoofed it back alone, lock in hand, to have them recut.

Later, we walked the 0.8 miles each way to a local watering hole that got 4.5 stars out of 5 called Devito's (clearly no relation to Danny, despite what it may say on Google Maps). It was the quintessential neighborhood joint that probably hasn't seen a coat of paint since 1968, and most of the patrons have had the same buzz going since the Clinton administration. The room still smelled like an ashtray from decades of second-hand smoke, even though smoking in such places has been banned for years. The jukebox was blaring the obligatory oldies, and we ordered a pizza from the bartender who claimed to make the best pie in the county.

The entire experience was forgettable, though, I'm pretty sure neither of us ever will. While we were waiting for our meal, a woman who was playing pool across the room suddenly started yelling, throwing billiard equipment around (not the balls, thankfully), and opening and slamming doors. The bartender allowed it to go on for a moment before interceding and showing the woman out the back door. The bartender came back and apologized to us for "all that," explaining that she had been drinking Jack and Cokes for most of the afternoon. He left and soon returned with our pizza, which did not live up to the hype. We ate what we could and returned to the boat with leftovers. 

The next morning, we topped up the potable water tank and got underway, and found ourselves almost immediately in Lock C-3. While we were locking up, the lockmaster stopped by and asked what our "air draft" (AKA: "vertical clearance" or "bridge clearance") is. I replied that we needed 16.5' of clearance. I was then informed that the next bridge was 15.5', and we would not make it through unless and until he dropped the pool level (depth), which would take him approximately two hours. He advised us to tie to the lock wall immediately outside the chamber after locking through, and he'd begin dropping the water level. He went on to say that they should have asked us at Lock C-1 (they didn't). 

When the lock opened, we made our way to the wall and tied up as instructed. About 90 minutes later, he radioed us and said we should have sufficient clearance. We thanked him and got underway, and cleared the bridge with room to spare. We proceeded up through some gorgeous country through three more locks and one guard gate, ending our day in Fort Edward, NY on another free canal wall, again with power and water. This one, kind-of-absurdly named "Fort Edward Yacht Basin," is where your humble scribe is currently scribing. 

Tonight will be our third (and hopefully final) night here. We had intended to leave this morning, but weather and mitigating circumstances conspired to encourage us to amend our timing—all of which I will elucidate in due time. 

We arrived here Monday just before 4PM. After getting tied up and shore power connected, we immediately made our way to the only local watering hole that seemed open on a Monday, called Dalias On the Hudson. We shared a couple appetizers—potato skins which arrived cold and congealed and cheese-steak empanadas which were hot out of the fryer, but entirely unremarkable. The dry martini I ordered was, likewise, not dry, but after our experience in Mechanicville, neither of us had the belly for complaining about, well, anything. "Everything is fine," was our answer, when asked. After dinner, we took a kick about town to see what it is all about, ultimately getting ice cream cones at the nearby Stewart's convenience store. 

After a good night's sleep, we woke and our morning "interneting" took us until nearly 11AM, at which point we decided to seek out brunch. We went first to Ye Old Fort Diner and selected a table. The waitress stopped by, and when she learned that Stacey was reading the breakfast specials on the board, informed us that they were switching over to lunch, but she probably could sneak it through. In truth, I'm not a breakfast person, and do not even enjoy egg preparations, so when we have brunch at such a place, I often will get a BLT. To me, the bacon makes it breakfast-y without requiring me to get flapjacks or waffles, which is really my only unsatisfying recourse at a breakfast-only counter. When the waitress returned for our order and I said I'd have the BLT, she informed us the "chef" would not do a mixed ticket—meaning combined breakfast and lunch. We stood up and walked out on that news and moved to another diner-like joint a few doors down called Mamma's Cafe, where Stacey got her eggs, which she tells me were good, and I got a grilled chicken club (with bacon!) that was also quite good. 

After brunch we walked to the area's historical sites—notably the Old Fort Edward Junction Lock and the Old Fort House Museum, the latter of which is actually named, not for the town or its namesake fort, but for one of the families that lived in that historic colonial edifice. Their actual surname was "Fort." Confused yet? At one point, when the house was being used as a tavern, Gen. George Washington and his men stopped there to dine, not just once, but twice. Hanging on the wall in the entryway is the original handwritten invoice for one of their meals. All told, it was a fascinating tour, and many of the pieces in the house told more than one story, which pleased this history buff. 

Following our stroll through history, we returned to the boat and enjoyed a mostly peaceful afternoon/evening, until a powerful storm cell came through and knocked the local power out and winds flattened a tree scarcely 50 yards from the boat. Power was not restored until the wee hours of the morning today. 

We arose this morning with every intention of getting underway to Whitehall, NY. We made preparations to do so, when the skipper of a neighbor boat informed us that Lock C-8 was still non-functional due to power not having been yet restored. I was able to confirm as much, and we decided to remain until we were sure we could continue locking through. About 10:30AM came the word that the lock was functioning again, but a quick look at the weather revealed that we were going to have more unsettled and rainy weather this afternoon, so we decided to just sit still until tomorrow when we might have a good run at Whitehall. With any luck at all, we'll be relaxing at the end of the Champlain Canal tomorrow evening and celebrating another cruising milestone.

Adventuring on the water can present its challenges, and we’ve had our share in recent days. I’ll get into that shortly, sparing some of the most-gruesome of the gruesome detail, but suffice it to say we are fine and enjoying our place in the world at the moment. Where would that place be? Well, as I’m typing these words, we are anchored on the Hudson River, just north of Croton Point on the eastern side of the river. We tucked in here yesterday evening to get out of the chop from the south wind, while still being able to enjoy its cooling influence. Our intention was to anchor across the river in a place familiar to us, Haverstraw Cove, but yesterday’s heat made me seek out the breeze, which the cove likely would have largely lacked.

Winding back the clock to the end of the last entry to this blog, we had just finished the Norway cruise, and we were preparing for my concert in Alexandria, VA on June 29 (which went very well), and also preparing to cast off with a rough destination of Lake Champlain. We did select a marina on the lake where we would leave our car and ultimately dock Stinkpot when I’m on tour in Maine in early August.

Within 48 hours of returning from the cruise last month, we both developed a bad “summer” cold that failed several tests, as we tried to confirm whether or not it was a COVID-19 variant. We can only surmise that it was not, but it was a miserable few days. For me, it was the gift that kept on giving as it turned into bronchitis that I’m only now starting to shake some three weeks later. I somehow managed to drug the cough away long enough to perform on the 29th, but other than that short, pharmaceutically-driven reprieve, I have been coughing like a tuberculosis patient since mid June.

During our final weeks in North East, we visited with as many friends as we could and completed most of our provisioning for our voyage. The morning of the 30th, we got in the car and drove first to the airport in Plattsburgh, NY—about seven hours—where we picked up a rental car we had reserved, and with the two cars, we made our way to Mooney Bay Marina where we parked our own steed until we arrive there July 31 aboard Stinkpot. We then turned around and drove back to North East, MD in the rental. July 1, I made a few last-minute store runs to pick up final provisions and then returned the rental car to the Avis location in Aberdeen, MD. My good friend, and the owner of Argo, Jeff, picked me up and returned me to Stinkpot.

I assessed the currents for the next day and determined that a 10:30 departure would allow us fair tidal current most of the way to our intended anchorage, and I let Jeff know since he intended to “stowaway” for the first couple days of our journey. The morning of July 2 arrived, and we were underway at 10:41 and enjoyed a following current from Turkey Point all the way to our usual anchorage on the Conhansey River. Delaware Bay is a two-day affair for us, and the Cohansey is one of the few decent anchorages along its length and gives us wonderful views, and a perfect midpoint at which to stop for the evening. It’s also prone to be filled with accursed greenhead flies. They bite.