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A Slight Regression.
Fall Colors across the northern United States are spectacular.
However, unless one has experienced The Thousand Islands in the Fall, you ain't seen nothing yet.
The colors are part of the natural progression of the life of some types of trees ... but.
The 'but' considers the amount of rain necessary to the development of color. If it doesn't rain, the colors will be muted.
The Thousand Islands don't need the rain. They have the St. Lawrence river for the moisture. In the fall the river is an ocean of dense fog at times; usually early morning and very late at night. Fog is cloud cover on the surface. Clouds are an accumulation of moisture. While we were motoring up the St. Lawrence there were many times when we or the other of the kids were hoisted up the mast to watch for land and other obstructions.
This was besides the marvels in miniaturization by the Powers that Be; radar, sonar, side-scan sonar, vhf and uhf radio, satellite weather, GPS ... things from the far future.
A few times, while we were flying the kid, the Coast Guard ... either Canada or the United States ... stopped us and explained just how dangerous it was to motor in dense fog. It wasn't illegal but we were risking a whole lot by doing it.
From the masthead came the call, "Freighter just in sight. Looks to be passing to our starboard ... three hundred feet."
"What in the hell is that?" asked the Chief in command of the motor launch.
"My son, Artturi," Wendy said.
"Where is he?"
"Up the mast ... he's our lookout. Later in the day, the sun will have warmed the cloud enough to dispel the fog and we can sail," I said.
The thump-thump-thump of the propeller was plainly heard. A few seconds later, the boat began rocking from the wake produced by the passing local freight.
"Whee!" cried Art. "What fun!"
"Got any liquor on board?"
"Not much," I said. "Medicinal use only. We were informed of the Volstead Act in the US. We're doing our best to stay in Canadian waters."
"Your accent is unusual. Where are you from?"
"Uusikaupunki, Finland," I said.
"You Sailed across the Atlantic?"
"No." I explained, "We had the boat shipped to Quebec City by freighter. We came by liner."
If it happened once, it happened a million times. We were stopped and inspected by police boats, government launches, Canadian Coast Guard, and others from Quebec to Windsor, Ontario.
In the Detroit River, the Vellamo had a steering malfunction and wandered over to the American side ... by inches, mind you ... inches. She wasn't entirely across but the police boat towed us the rest of the way across the line. I do have to admit, she would have wandered the rest of the way all by herself.
"Don't talk to anyone until I hire an attorney," I said.
The Keystone cops couldn't have done it better. The accusations and innuendo was priceless. By this time the only alcohol on the boat was a pint bottle of 'prescription' medicine. Court appearances were nearly instantaneous. I objected to the Sergeant Judge and requested two things; the Finnish Ambassador ... and a maritime lawyer. Neither were produced ... and the judge refused my objection.
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