Honeoye and Canadice

 Honeoye, Don & Elaine’s house

North end of Honeoye

Barring accident, injury, weakness of spirit, equipment malfunction, or the sudden appearance of a really, really good malt shop, today will have been the shortest day of this trip. Up early for a 10-mile jaunt around Honeoye Lake, I loaded the boat back on the car for the short drive to Canadice and six more miles.

On Canadice I had the pleasure of rowing alongside Jim Kersting, a delightful guy who has spent a lot of time in service to the Finger Lakes Land Trust. Heroic work, so effective and lasting, especially in this go-go economy.

Anyway, Jim just took delivery of his own Adirondack guide boat … a real beauty, one that looks the way mine did 17 years and 5000 miles ago. Jim’s a biker – strong legs, great endurance - and he makes his boat fly. It was fun, and enlightening, to row with a wingman.

My host Don detoured me up to the ridge to the south of the lake (Honeoye) for a spectacular view; on a clear day, you can see Rochester, Lake Ontario, and, yes, forever.

This afternoon, Don gave me a master class in invasives, funding issues, public engagement, and more than a dollop of optimism. It’s hard to retain a sense of environmental optimism when one sees how much we are demanding of ecosystems, how negligent we are at prevention and how reluctant we are to fund remediation. Folks like Don and Jim and Ray are the reason I feel hope – these, and hundreds like them, are smart about the science, practiced at dealing with bureaucracy, and seasoned to know that environmental advocacy is a long game calling for collaboration, not stridency.

Back a couple of weeks ago, I had that coffee with Lake George Waterkeeper Chris Navasky. As I wrote then, he advised me to try to ‘read the lakes,’ that how people were interacting with the shore and water would tell the tale of trouble or of progress. Honeoye is a really nice lake, but as I rowed the shoreline I couldn’t help but begin to calculate the percentage of shoreline faced with seawalls, artificial barriers, or non-native rocks. Daunting. And tomorrow by all accounts I row the ‘rich man’s lake,’ and I worry that I’ll see the walls and lakeside transformations on a grander scale. It’ll be 32 miles through allegedly hellish Sunday boat traffic, but I’ll be wearing my brave yellow shirt, surrounded by my magic bubble of naiveté, elan, and pluck.

Sooo … much more to write, but the Land of Nod beckons, as does its capital city of Charmin and the spires of Crest.

More later, or tomorrow?

Love you guys –

Al

Granddaughters Rose and Sylvie are following Gramps' progress on their map

Conesus and Hemlock

Honeoye Lake – Don & Elaine Cook’s house

28 mile day

 The wetlands at the south end of Conesus

I don’t have much time. It’s getting dark, and my hands and legs are locking up like Sonny Liston in the fifth. But what a wonderful first day.

A total of 16 miles on Conesus … very heavily populated, and I shudder to think what it would be like without that municipal septic system. I want the history I don’t yet know; did the system spawn subsequent development, or did the densely-packed camps right on the shore compel the need for the system?

Ray was a great host – I could not have asked for a better start.

 I arrived at Hemlock Lake around 1 PM and was met by the effervescent Patti Bedard; she runs the Rochester water system (plant) - essentially she’s the mayor of Hemlock Lake. There’s not a camp on its 15 miles of shoreline – no sign of the human habitation that was removed decades ago. My 12 miles on that lake was as close to totally undisturbed nature as I’ve ever come. The quiet interrupted only by the gunshot-like slapping sounds of huge bass coming clear out of the water.

There’s no swimming allowed in Hemlock – so tempting because of the clear water and undisturbed sand and shale banks. Patti told me the #1 issue at Hemlock is, ironically, not the water, but the surrounding forest cover. The lake relies on its land-bound vegetation for its cleanliness and chemistry, and blights abound.  

Patti is a rock star too, managing the filtration plant, rangering the lake, dealing with bureaucracy … and helping a duffer like me get launched. She’d hoped for Freihofer cookies … all I had was the sweetest thank you I could summon. Not enough, I don’t think.

Tonight I’m the guest of Don and Elaine Cook, long active in a wide range of Lake Association projects and leadership. Wonderful folks; I’ll be with them for two nights … and I’ve got to wrap it up now and get settled; more on them, Honeoye, Canadice, and Life on the Boat tomorrow, OK?

The short take so far is wonderful people, beautiful but highly stressed lakes, and Al feeling his age but pretending not to.

Love -

Lake Conesus

 Tonight I’m the guest of Ray Case, a lakeside resident and secretary/tech guru for the Conesus Lake Association. He’s a retired engineer who now puts his experience in technology, analysis, and common sense to work in protecting this beautiful lake.

I have only to wheel my boat across Ray’s yard to be on the water tomorrow

I was prepared to pepper him with questions about septic systems and waste water management, only to learn that Conesus is surrounded by its own ‘municipal’ system. The four townships around the lake collaborated years ago, installed 26 pumping stations around the lake, all of which feed a wastewater treatment facility outside of the basin.

One of the 26 pumping stations - this one's on Ray's property

This is not to say that the lake isn’t challenged by invasive species and algae blooms. It is. But to learn that four townships and one county collaborated on an environmental infrastructure project like this suggests that it can be done.

It was a long drive today, and it will be good to be on the water tomorrow. I’ll try to clock 18 miles around Conesus by 1 PM, then load the car back up for a loop around Hemlock, another 15. Hemlock is a pure reservoir – no houses, no camps, no nuttin’, so it will be an ‘all natural’ afternoon, for sure.

Ray’s given me the best possible start, and his commitment to this place and to environmental education is terrific. ‘No two of these lakes are the same,’  Ray said as he described Conesus’ specific challenges. ‘But,’ I should have countered, ‘the qualities of knowledge, commitment, and stewardship for the future sure seem to be a common thread for the people – like you – who try to keep what we’ve been given.’

Ray, you’re a hero. Thanks!    

A great meeting and educational facility

And Peg, post this page so people can see what you have to do every night! You’re a heroine!

Love! 

T minus One

My last “training” row took place yesterday. A strong northeast wind had built up by early afternoon, but I was able to find some flat water in the lea of the east shore. Believing that listening to the January 6th hearings ought to be a kind qualifier for responsible citizenship, I donned my Black and Decker radio headset and headed out into the blow, grateful that I had a couple of nine foot cherry oars through which to vent my frustration, worry, and incredulity as I listened to how close we’d come. 

But since this is a rowing blog, not a political column, I’d better get back to the metaphorical shore, eh?

I head west tomorrow. Today is a day of decision-making. Packing a 15’ boat for a couple of weeks of residency calls for hard choices, especially when the boat and gear will ride on - or on top of - a 13’ Mini Cooper. 

Some choices are easy: dry pack pouch tuna will be lighter than cans, for example. A spork will do for cutlery. My old-timey Moleskin journal will substitute for this anchor-weight laptop, and wash-and-wear stuff, not Herringbone, will compress best into my sea bag. But there will be no skimping on the Dinty Moore Beef Stew. Like Popeye and his spinach, Dinty Moore has pulled me through some very tough patches and while some might opine that the 20 oz. can is more than any man should eat (alone), it’s madness to find one’s self in peril with only the 15 oz. can. (Shudder)

I sure wish I’d planned my final training row for this morning. It doesn’t get any calmer than this.

Those of you receiving this final pre-departure blog post through an e mail push may have an interest in following me when I get on the water on Friday. Peg, my life partner and technology maven, has not found a way to turn a blog post into an automatic e mail (perhaps the preferred pattern for many of you), so you, Gentle Reader, will have to place this blog address in your “favorites” or, as some might, apply the address to your toothbrush as a reminder each morning to catch the latest. It should be easier to tune in this year, morally speaking, because I’m not looking to raise money this time, unless you want to give to your favorite non-profit.  This time around I’m just looking to learn: to learn about environmental stewardship, best practices, and policy. To learn about the people who do this work, who take hard stands in advocacy, and who listen to and translate the science for the rest of us. And maybe to better appreciate the gifts that I’ve been given and to invite others to do the same. 

Be warned that if you are inclined to stay in the boat with me over the next few weeks, this is not an Instagram/Twitter kind of operation. It’s more like Pony Express circa 1860. Each night - perhaps between spork-fulls of Dinty Moore raised by my gnarled hands against the raging storm outside the tent- I’ll write of my day’s experience in my paper journal. Then, after dabbing away any Dinty Moore that may have fallen on the page, I’ll take a picture and send the image to Peg who, being an able translator of Authentic Septuagenarian Scrawl, will transcribe my narrative to the blog. And you, Gentle Reader, in reaching for your toothbrush the next morning, will be reminded that hey! I don’t have to take my coffee alone this morning! Al is with me, or out there somewhere, and badda-bing, badda- boom, the cycle is complete.

And I won’t be alone, either. I’ve got conversations planned with six lake association people, a land conservancy expert, two natural resource scientists, and any number of knowledgeable Finger Lakes curmudgeons whose lives are inextricably entwined with their lakes, as mine is with Lake George. The list may grow. I hope it does. And I hope I have the patience and wit to listen closely enough to what they say to describe it in these pages. 

So here we go.

Peace, love, and happiness-

Al

Sad news arrived the other day, news that will delay my departure by a couple of days but which will enable me to celebrate the life of Sophie Jean Cooper, 95. “Mrs. Coop” passed away during the 4th, and I’ll join her family for services on Thursday and then depart for the row. 

Mrs. Coop has left a beautiful legacy in memories and family. One of her favorite expressions, “Get going! Nobody feels good in the morning!” was a real motivator. Through sickness, exhaustion, or malaise, she employed that phrase to great effect, and it will be in my head as I roust myself out of my sleeping bag starting next week. When we can retain the voices and the spirits of those who have added so much to our lives, we carry an incomparable gift, I think. Love ya’, Mrs Coop…

Last night I phoned those of you who had offered a port for me along the way through the first week, and each of you has generously adjusted your schedules and left the Welcome mats out. What a wonderful crew I have aboard! Here’s the schedule as of this moment, to the degree that a soon-to-be 71 year-old can adhere to a schedule from a rowboat:

7/14 Drive from Lake George to Conesus

7/15 Row Conesus, Hemlock Lakes

7/16 Row Canadice, Honeoye Lakes

7/17 Row Canandaigua Lake

7/18-19 Row Keuka Lake

7/20-21 Row Seneca Lake

7/22-23 Row Cayuga Lake

7/24 Row Owasco Lake

7/25-26 Row Skaneateles Lake

7/27 Row Otisco Lake

7/28 Sleep in….

Close to home, I’m getting a bit of a sinking feeling about the state of my home waters. I know that ongoing sophisticated scientific monitoring tracks the status of Lake George’s water in ways that my eyeballs and taste buds can’t process, but while I’m underway in my morning “training” rows, I coast over lake-bottom that I’ve known for well over half a century. I see vegetation and growth that I’ve not seen before, “coatings” and plant matter that in places obscure what used to be familiar rocks and clear sand. In some places I’m not seeing the bottom over ground that was clearly visible in my youth. Given how hard the lake is being used, it isn’t surprising; boat traffic is intense, the sheer numbers of people on, in, or near the water is an order of magnitude greater than it was when I was a kid, and I should probably be more surprised and heartened at how well it is all holding up. But there’s no question that humankind is on offense here, relentlessly, and that the work of the Lake George Association, the Land Conservancy - and many others- has never been more important.

What a precious resource we have. A one-of-a-kind, really. And I hope to hear the same kind of love and determined optimism about others’ home waters from those I’m going to meet along the way….

Finally, after a “training” row the other morning, I popped a Thomas Corn Toastie into the oven and couldn’t help but notice the similarity of the patina of the Toastie to the back of my hand. 

Maybe it’s time to be a bit more aggressive on the sunscreen? Or, just add butter?

Zero Sum Training

It was calm this morning after the Dunkirk-esque scene on the water yesterday, so I was out early for a good row up to Glen Island and back (16 miles total), making good time with my new scalloped pine oars and enjoying the blessed peace of a quiet lake. The Glen Island store must have known I was coming, because next to the coffee urn was a stack of Saran-wrapped Crumb Cakes, the kind where the streusel topping crowds the cake like big cumulus clouds and breaks off into thumb-sized dollops of buttery goodness.

I think I only bought one. 

 

But to sit down in the boat for the return row with that buttery miasma on my hands and then on the handles of the oars with the boat soon smelling like Big Al’s Bakeshop and me thinking that maybe I should have picked up a second one, or maybe even a third, for the trip home…some extra “stores” in case the weather or circumstance turned against me which is maybe what the Coast Guard had in mind with “Semper Paratus”? (sorry for the breathlessly run-on sentence, but a great Crumb Cake does that to me). 

     Pardon me…but it’s a Crumb Cake

The obvious question is whether sixteen miles of rowing is enough to counteract the dietary impact of a slice of crumb cake as big as my head. I’m not slender because I treat exercise as permission to behave like a teenager, and if you think that those crumbs on the dock got kicked to the grass for the insects or the hugely attentive seagulls, you haven’t rowed (or dined) with me. I’ll fight them for every last golden crumb.  

Anyway, on the way up to Glen Island I passed Log Bay and saw more than a dozen boats on the hook. It was pretty obvious that given the hour (well before 7AM) and their rafted positions, they had been there all night. 

I wondered if the Park Commission has changed the rules about boats dropping anchor and spending a night in a place like that. To my knowledge, Lake George traditionally has not been open to cruisers in that way; except for Red Rock Bay a bit to the north, I didn’t think that The Authorities would allow boats to spend the night at anchor without a permit at a designated island dock. Maybe I’m wrong and this is now permitted?

My worry, of course, is the obvious: are these folks equipped with the kinds of equipment for taking care of personal hygiene that will not impact the lake? Many years ago I heard Andy Rooney predict that “we’ll love this lake to death,” and when I see new concentrations and new high-impact uses like this, I worry a lot about the future.

Anyway, this morning I rowed a bit, I ate a big bite, and I wondered a bit more about the price a place pays for increased popularity. 

Tomorrow marks one week before I hit the road for the Finger Lakes. I’ll never be ready with training like this, but maybe I can treat the actual rowing as training and convince myself at end of the adventure that I can do it after I’ve done it?

That’s Crumb Cake Logic.

Love you guys!   

Research

To get coached up on what I might look for and learn during my eleven-lake adventure, yesterday I had the great pleasure of sharing a cup of coffee with Chris Navitsky, the Lake George Waterkeeper. 

As you might imagine, Chris is one busy fellow, so having a chance to share a mug and learn about his work and the state of stewardship of the lake was a real privilege.  His long experience in effective advocacy while navigating the currents of science, the relentless press of economic development, the complexity of local and state politics, and vital collaboration with allied entities makes for interesting listening. As I listened to Chris I felt like an unprepared student attending a Master Class in Environmental Advocacy, but Chris- as great teachers do- brought me along in a way I could follow. 

Coffee poured and stirred, I asked Chris straightaway away about what I should be looking to learn during my row back to Lake George. With a wry smile and a hint of Zen, he started with, “Al, start by looking at what the lakes themselves tell you. They will talk to you, if you look closely.”

Chris went on to explain that the geology and geography and flora of the lakes is one thing, and are profoundly important, yet what I will see as evidence of human habitation as I row along the shore will be another. Does it look like the people who live there care about the sustained health of their waterway? Is there evidence of smart, responsible lakeside development that might protect a lake’s natural qualities? As I talk to folks along the way, what will I discover about their attitudes regarding zoning and planning and regulation? Will these functions be viewed as guardrails and guardians and sentinels or as impediments to “growth” or personal freedom? And as I ask old-timers about what they have seen in trends on their lakes or as benchmarks in their lives on the water, what will they say about the prospects of paying beauty forward?

I came away from my morning coffee with Chris recognizing that my most important asset on this trip may well be my ears, not my arms and shoulders. Each of these lakes will tell a story if I have the wit and patience to listen.

     

Speaking of aging arms and shoulders, I’ve been out on the water trying to awaken the rowing muscles, such as they are. I rowed 45 miles last week, a paltry 6.5 miles-per-day average, in preparation for a Finger Lakes trip that will demand 35 to 40 miles on some days and close to 400 miles in total. 

The muscles I am trying to awaken are hitting the snooze button and telling me to roll over; they’ll wake up on July 13^th. 

I hope they will.

Finally, thank you, Fabulous Finger Lakes Folks, for your early expressions of interest and support in this adventure, such as it is. I’m certainly not the first person who’s done this, nor will I by any means be the “fastest,” or even the oldest. But I feel I can vie for the title of Most Appreciative for the opportunity, for your hospitality, and for being in place and a moment when I can even give it a try. As I follow the national news and lament the division and intractable polarization we continue to embrace, I can at least look forward to learning learn all I can about how we’re taking care of the blessing and beauty of our lakes. 

I hope that’s enough.

Mo’ latah!