When we started in earnest, we made a number of trips to Lake Ontario, by way of the Erie Canal, entering the lake at Oswego. Sometimes Don and I stayed at a marina in Henderson Harbor, or anchored off Stony Island, and fished for bass and pike. At other times, the family vacationed in the beautiful Thousand Islands or crossed into Canada and traveled their canals. We had some uneventful cruises, but also some adventures; a few of which I'll relate for your amusement.

The first time Don and I anchored overnight in a scenic isolated cove, we immediately dived off the boat for a swim; but when we were tired and ready to climb back onto POLARIS, a small problem arose. I had stupidly forgotten to hang the boarding ladder over the side, and the railing was too high to reach. Being young and agile, Don swarmed up the anchor line like a pirate, and put the ladder over for me.

Not only once but several times on our travels, we would stop at a marina to stay overnight, plug in our electric line, and blow the fuses for the whole marina. Sometimes the other boaters were quite polite about it. We finally bought different plugs to conform to the various electrical systems.

One of our more dramatic adventures occured when Ruth, Don, Margaret and I stayed for a week on Calumet Island, opposite Clayton in the Saint Lawrence. The unusual island surrounds a small lake. One afternoon, we took POLARIS across the river to Clayton to see a movie. When we returned to the boat, it was being battered against the dock by a high wind. The situation was untenable so I decided -- rashly, as it turned out -- to take the boat back to the island, a half mile or so. It was getting dark, and the waves were high, but we could guide by the lights on the island.

Before long, with a moonless sky, the night was jet black. Don was at the bow, following the beam of our searchlight, on the lookout for rocks. (Did you know that a search light is useless unless something is out there to reflect the light back to your eyes?) Suddenly, the lights on the island went off! We learned later that the wind had knocked out their power. After a frightening time, we were relieved to see lights again and headed towards them. But after a while Don yelled, "Those lights are moving!" Sure enough, we were following a freighter down the river! Now we were really lost.

Finally the island lights did come on again, and we made safe harbor. We still weren't finished with problems, though.

A powerful West wind blew all that week, but died down the night before we had to start home. The river was calm as we reached the open lake we encountered monstrous waves, so high that the boat was thrown around like a toy. Everything loose was thrown to the floor, dishes broken, the crew bruised and battered. When I looked down into the cabin, Ruth was sitting on the floow cradling precious tableware in her arms and making unhappy remarks about stupid husbands who didn't have to be here anyway! I had to admit to myself that she was right. We had to battle those waves all the way to Oswego.

Another year, when we had been peacefully cruising Canada's Rideau Canal, it was time to start home across the lake from Kingston, Ontario. When we got up that morning, there was a fairly strong northerly wind, about twenty to twenty five knots. I listened to the weather prediction, which was in Coast guard lingo, and mistakenly understood it to say that the wind velocity would be decreasing. So we started South for Oswego, with a strong tailwind and high waves that threatened to wash over the stern. Unfortunately, the wind kept getting stronger, and I had to run the boat at full speed to keep the following waves from coming in, so we made fast time. I sang songs all the way. After we had safely made harbor, I confessed that I'd sung to keep from being afraid. Mararet said, "I'm glad I didn't know that!"

Another Lake Ontario experience came when a dense fog settled in when we were in the middle of the lake and miles from shore. We traveled for hours, without being able to see beyond the bowsprit. We depended completely on the compass, hoping fervently that it had been accurately calibrated, and wondering how we would know whether we were East or West of Oswego if and when we say the shore; assuming we didn't collide with another boat first. The Stookey good angel was with us again, or the compass was accurate, and we arrived safely at Oswego.