STORY PAGE
A Day On The St, Lawrence
In place of the six paragraphs I originally wrote, let us just say I was a proficient skier, able to take off from a dock and return getting only my ankles wet.
Twenty-five plus years ago, my wife and I moved to Massena. We were soon availing ourselves of the great St. Lawrence River. A trip to Alex Bay, fishing, and hanging out on an island with friends was almost an every day part of our lives. Many of us were frequently water skiing. We moored our boat at the marina at Barnhart Island and also enjoyed the other facilities of Robert Moses State Park.
Our boat then was a Starcraft Chieftain, a Cuddy Cabin day cruiser. It was only 21 ft. long, but had toilet, stove, sink, icebox, and v-berth for overnight stays. It had seating for four behind the Cabin, and seating for four more in the cabin. (Just do not stand up in the cabin if you are an adult.). It had the power to pull skiers, or slow adequately to troll for fish.
My wife worked at Potsdam Paper, but it was my fortune to work within minutes of Barnhart. Before she normally arrived, I did a little fishing or visited with marina friends. This particular day I stayed aboard. My wife had invited a company sales person/friend to have dinner and "hang out" with us that evening. She had purchased steaks for the barbeque and I expected a dull evening with talk of her work, products, sales, etc.
They arrived early. Things were not as I expected. I cannot remember how it happened but before long, I was water skiing. Skiing was not allowed at the marina and starting in the middle of the St. Lawrence even in June is like practice for the Polar Bear Club. I chose to take off from the Park beach and return there. Although my wife seldom pulled skiers, she was proficient with the Starcraft, and knowledgeable with the rules and signals for skiing.
An overturned pail allowed me to depart the shallows of the water. The rope became taught, I yelled, "Hit it." and I was up and away. I skied while she pointed out various sights to her friend. Finally becoming tired, I gave her the signal to return to shore. She started back.
At the beach there is a roped off swimming area. Out from there are buoys keeping boaters and skiers well away from that area. My wife brought me in and made the swing to drop me. She didn't come close enough for me to reach the shallow water, and tired as I was, I signaled for her to make another pass. I did not wish to be in the cold deep water. I signaled for her to get closer to the beach. Three more times she tried, but she was afraid to come any closer. She was also getting angry with me for not letting go of the ski line. I was dropping the next time. I was too tired to go again. On the next try I jumped the wake on the far side then whipped back across just as she was making her cut to drop me. When I came out of that whip I was too close to the beach. I tried to jump in the air before reaching it. I even started my legs going in a running motion. Not.
When I returned to earth, running lasted less than a second. I was then skiing in the sand on my nose. Hurt? A little. Embarrassed? A lot. If I were watching would I be laughing? You bet!
My wife had been angry. She had given the controls to her friend who had brought the boat closer than I would have dared. I was probably doing over 30mph when I was trying to run and land.
I was sore. I was embarrassed. My wife was angry. Her friend was having a great time.
We returned to the marina to eat. I drove.
They barbequed. I went to the public shower to remove the embedded sand. Then I raided the first-aid kit. I found salve for my nose, and Heet for my aching body. Nothing was found for my damaged dignity.
The steak and salad were great, my wife's anger was replaced by the humor of it all, and the beer was cold and refreshing. Better yet, the conversation soon turned to something other than skiing or even paper products. It was becoming a fun and enjoyable evening. It was almost dark. I was feeling sore, but much better.
At dusk we watched as a boat pulling two skiers passed by. I mentioned that it was dangerous and even illegal to be skiing within a half hour before sundown. Her friend couldn't resist, "Maybe they are going to make their drop at the beach." I laughed. They soon passed the other way with only one skier. Maybe they did drop a skier at the beach.
At dark we talked about camp and how, if there, we would be building a fire by the water. My wife suggested doing that on the island. I wasn't feeling that much better.
Someone else must have had the same idea. Soon a group of boats started leaving the marina. Unusual for this late at night, most were normally returning. Word got around quickly. A skier was lost. The Coast Guard Auxiliary was rushing to find him.
Having been in the Coast Guard I had never failed to help anyone on the water. However, with my wife's guest there, and myself being sore, I didn't move. My wife then commented that normally I would be out already helping. Her friend said, "Don't worry about me. Let's go." We did.
There was a NY fisheries boat staying at the marina. It was pulling out at the same time as we were. I was off to their starboard (right). I energized the two halogen driving lights mounted in front. I gave our guest a hand held spotlight to follow the shoreline. I then located the frequency being used for the search on our marine radio. The State boat had a large sealed beam spotlight and without communicating we worked as a team, pretty much covering the width of the river.
My halogen lights were so bright, that the portion reflecting from our white bow of our boat was obscuring my vision. Unlike those who left before us, we were going fairly slow. (I didn't wish to run over a lost skier in the dark.) I asked my wife to drive. I went forward and sat on the deck in front of the halogens. I could see perfectly.
We had gone quite a distance. We were half way or better to the power damn. From the radio I had learned where the skier had fallen. When he fell he was OK. He had retrieved his ski and he was wearing his vest. His driver had left him to drop the other skier and quickly return. When the boat returned, the skier was gone.
We had already passed the spot he was last seen. We were in swift current, but unless the skier was hurt or too tired, it was possible he had made shore. There was no news from the search party on shore. The first boats out had reached the power dam. They were on the radio discussing what to do next.
It was then that our guest suddenly spotted something in the distance toward shore. I asked my wife to make a slow turn toward that area. At first we saw the white ski being held up, then the skier. We slowly headed toward him.
I returned to the helm. I radioed the Auxiliary. They were not far away. I heard their engines power up. I continued closer to the skier. I asked him if he was OK. He said he thought so, but he was cold, numb and exhausted. Before I could say another word, one of the Auxiliary boats whipped in next to him. As one took the ski, two others pulled him aboard. Once aboard they all sped back to shore.
It was over. We returned at a safe and reasonable speed for the dark night. After docking, we walked to the large boat where the skier had been transferred. They had checked him out, given him warm liquids and he had left. The local radio station had been and gone and the Auxiliary was praised for its fine work. We returned to our boat.
When we were at the boat our guest asked, "What did you think of that operation?" I told him that the skier was found, he was safe, and he was uninjured. What more could we ask for? (It was left unsaid that the Coast Guard Auxiliary operation was not up to par.) He waited for me to say more, when I didn't, he said. "It's a day I'll never forget. Thank You."
As you can see, neither did I.
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