We leave Long Point. The easy life of flat grassy campsites
with electric hook up is over. We’ve
moved on to Keewaydin on the St Lawrence, a nice semi-shady place but in a camp
ground with vehicles and people packed in like ferry cargo. Actually, the only passenger-vehicle ferry
making the international crossing is in Cape Vincent. When the 11 am ferry
crossed from Wolfe Island, Canada one car and two bicyclist boarded. How do they make money? The thought of the ferry crossing from Maui
to Molokai getting skunked by the airlines came to mind. Here the skunk is the 1000
Island International Bridge.
Dad and I left the peninsula about 10am and puttered around
the whole day. A stop in Cape Vincent
for a latte. A demonstration on how to use an ATM. We are now flush with a $100
cash. Money when we attempt to rent a boat. We strolled around the docks,
looked at sail boats. Went to the DEC aquarium featuring Ontario’s lake fish
from sturgeons to invasive gobis. Dad and I were impressed with the display of crayfish claws. We even saw the
notorious blue one that apparently are deposited by seagulls in the winter. At
least that was Shangri-la Tom’s story. I
don’t know where seagulls get crayfish in the dead of winter.
Dad had nicked his finger restacking the firewood. I had not
noticed until I watched him get blood all over the RV door. He brushed it off.
Didn’t even want to wash the dried blood off his fingers. It was a seriously
small nick, but blood was all over his fingers. I got a damp paper towel and
had him clean his hand. Then I applied a bit of antibiotic. He refused a
Band-aid. Mentioned his blood thinner.
We hit Clayton and the Antique Boat Museum about 1pm, in
time to tour the La Duchesse, a huge barge-like houseboat that had a very
sketchy record as boats go. It sank twice, the second time within hours of
being raised the first time. And the thing doesn’t even have a motor, but like
every ostentatious boat a dance floor,
a Steinway and enough claw-foot bathtubs to embarrass a brothel.
We had an opportunity to get out in a skiff. Dad had no
difficulty getting into the boat from the dock, but it got a little dicey when
he wanted to row. He came from the bow
to the mid-section.” Stay low Dad.”
There were no sea rescues. I counter balanced any of Dad’s suspect
maneuvers. I’m sure the staff (college kids) had a good laugh. This rowing experience reminded of the time
when a certain sea captain was so sure I didn’t know how to row a boat. Pretty insulted I got in, purposely sat
facing the wrong way and flapped the oar around sending the boat in a tight
circle. The look on his face still makes me laugh.
By 4 pm we shoved off to the campground. The Park Ranger was
a young college student named Kaylin. Today was her last day at work, returning
back to school next week. Fredonia, where my sister had gone. She asked Dad if he had been in World War II
and she shook his hand. I thought the two were going to arm wrestle. Dad has a
strong grip. Apparently, she does too.
There was a billing glitch. Apparently we owed $45.00. Everything had been paid on-line when the
reservations were made back in June. She
said she’d figure it out and sent us on our way. After we got the RV leveled, (and I thought I
would have nightmares all night long fretting that we would roll off the hill
into the river.) she came to our site and explained she worked everything out. She told us she was a history major and was
interested in talking to Dad some more. That explained why she was curious
about Dad’s service. Not too many kids acknowledge
that there aren’t too many WWII veterans left.
It is a rare a 20-something kid would care. She asked if she could come by tomorrow in
the early evening.
Dad tried to start a fire but all we had was newspaper and
logs. He was successful in filling the
RV with smoke. Without power we turned in early relying on candle light and
flashlights isn’t fun. I’ve a fully charged computer battery and 70% on my
phone. My data plan turned over last night so I’m one gig full.