Blog #7: Lake Champlain

Spring has come in fast forward for us semester students as we stepped out of the depths of winter and into the waters of Lake Champlain. After our Quebec City layover we exchanged our faithful skis for two lofty 20-foot long wood canvas voyager canoes, crafted by the 2004 and 2006 Vermont Semesters and re-varnished and re-painted by our semester. These new vessels would be our main mode of transportation on our venture to New York City. On the water we met our new instructor, Owen Cunnane, who will be with us for the remainder of our expedition, and reconnected with Miron who would be joining us for a short while in order to mentor us in living on the water.

When we were starting out we were apprehensive of what we might encounter. We learned our new camp set-up, which consists of a summer stove, a tarp for group gatherings, and three tents for sleeping. The first night was bitterly cold. I remember that my toes were colder than they'd been in Uapishka, and many faces on that night were solemn with fear, that this chill might become a consistent trend. We heard that the lake was frozen over, which posed a potential problem for our travel plans. Yet as we went we were slowly greeted by clear water and stunning days. On our third day we had our first (and last) encounter with the ice. After a long day of travel and only a mile from our intended destination, we came upon a stretch of water that sat placid in our gaze. At first we perceived it to be clear, calm waters as a result of a bay blocking the wind. As we drew nearer we were astonished by the sound of ice, like a massive wind chime cascading against itself. One of our two mighty boats, the Chaga, sped towards it in an attempt to break through, but to no avail. Instead we watched from the Kasha as their bow slid atop the ice and momentarily trapped them. At this point our only choice was to find a place to set up camp and devise a plan for crossing. We spied a thin channel in the pack that seemed like it passed through but we were uncertain. In the end we decided it was our only option. Our plan for the following day was to find our way through. In the end, as we slept, a warm southern rain came and by morning we were astonished by a perfectly clear expanse. 

Though the ice had left us we weren't out of the woods yet. We started by travelling into the headwinds, and as they picked up throughout the day so did the waves. Soon we were paddling hard, leaning into every oncoming wave. It was hard to believe we weren't in some vast ocean. Several times the bow dipped under the waves or a back splash sloshed over the stern. We endured these conditions for five straight hours, and as we moved slowly onward, Valcour Island came into sight. First its outline became distinct against the land behind it. Then the trees were visible, and finally we could see the rocks lining the shore. Miron declared it a race by hounding our boat to push and so we kicked it into high gear. A cacophony of absurd insults and yips of encouragement boomed about the crashing waves. We were neck to neck, our finish line the patch of still water by the shore. We called to River who was steering the Kasha in an attempt to distract her. At first she stayed strong and focused on the prize, but curiosity crept over her like the waters crept over the gunwales and in a moment of weakness she looked back at us. In that same moment she re-positioned her paddle maneuvering Kasha to the side. This gave us a few precious moments to gain the lead and as we passed we cackled like a flocks of crows. After all the noble efforts the Chaga won out, and the Kasha glided to shore shortly after. The only prize awarded was a beautiful sunset and the perfect campsite. 

Many lovely places showed us hospitality, and among them were Rockpoint Boarding School, and Lake Champlain Waldorf School. It was such a delight to see other individuals our own age and hear from them their own stories, as well as join them in a couple of games.  

We had a stop at Barn Rock where we had a four-day live over. In that time we were reunited with Oliver for two days so that he could teach us to handcraft wooden paddles. Each of us were given a poplar paddle blank and from there we shaped down the grip, shaft, and blade using axes, spokeshaves, and hand planes. The wilderness as our workshop was the most wonderful thing, because we got to create something beautiful in the most beautiful place. To finish our paddles many of us added embellishments and then we all painted on several coats of oil.

As we waved goodbye to Oliver, we kept our hands uplifted, for as we ushered him out we simultaneously received Misha. Now in his presence we worked two 14-hour days on a composting toilet project that came to fruition as a result of the hard work of 10th graders from Lake Champlain Waldorf School, their teacher Rob Palmer, donations from the Lake Champlain Maritime Museum, and funding by the Basin Harbor Club. We learned some valuable carpentry skills in unison with a class on the ecological benefits of a composting toilet, and how they differ from an outhouse.

From Barn Rock to the end of our Champlain Leg, Misha led us in our Odyssey block. In this class we finished the book in three days. As we left Barn Rock we were greeted by a cheery NE wind. We hoisted our mast, tethered on our square sails and by their fair and forceful breath were sent 34 miles in a single day. All of us were thrilled by the gift of going such a great distance, and found our spirits lifted.

We touched down at the inlet of East Creek, where we would have a live-over, this time spanning two days. It was an utterly beautiful place, barely touched, because it is often as flooded as it was when we visited it. There we noted such signs of spring as toads, snakes, muskrats, and the distinct song of the loon. In the mornings we are now awakened to a symphony of birds, a foreign sound to us after listening to the utter silence of Uapishka for so long. 

For our culminating day of the Champlain Leg we traveled 25 miles to Whitehall, NY. We paddled non-stop across silky still waters. While we pushed, the sun parted the overcast blanket that had shielded its golden rays from us in the morning. It was t-shirt weather! Misha, feeling it's warmth, announced from the stern of our canoe that we would go swimming. Two at a time jumped from the boats into the chilly water. Moments later heads would re-emerge from the water and quivering bodies would flop into the boat shortly behind. It felt so lovely afterward, to be dried by the sun. 

At the end of that sunny day we came to Lock 12, the first (for us) of the twelve locks that make up the Champlain Canal. Though the locks were off-season, the NY State Canal System pushed maintenance earlier so that we could continue our journey without portaging our boats. It was an event all of us had been envisioning since the first week of semester. Our two lovely vessels floated before the yellow gates and waited for the green light. Before the green light could even illuminate, the sound of the lock with its mighty metal arms resonated across the water. Once inside we held onto the ropes so our boats wouldn't be tossed about by the water. It was barely noticeable at first, but soon strong white patches of foam bubbled up around us and the water level rose. When it again came to a rest, we were done with our Champlain leg, having traveled 120 miles in 16 days. 

We can't wait to see where these waters take us next!

-Zaboski