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.