The first leg of the journey on the Wolfe Island Ferry was pretty straightforward. The publicly-funded ferry, which can handle up to 300 passengers, travels from Kingston to Marysville on Wolfe Island in about 25 minutes. (Yes, all these islands are named after British generals.) This is the view of downtown Kingston as we headed out of the harbour.
The tall building with the dome is the City Hall, a nationally recognized historic site. I got out of the car to feel the cool wind in my face and to enjoy the view.
|A laker with cargo bound for who knows where.|
|Wolfe Island in the mist.|
Fortunately, the day was drizzly, but not terribly windy. Even so, once out on the open lake, the swell grew in height,
and we rolled up and down until Bill said, "Don't talk, I need to concentrate...Does the U.S. Coast Guard know about this?" Not long after, we passed into calmer waters and I was able to stop making plans for how to cope with throw up in a rented car. We drove off, went through a pretty quick border post at a little booth at the edge of the dock, and found ourselves on the main street of Cape Vincent.
The rest of the drive was far less interesting. Upstate New York isn't beautiful until you get well into the mountains. Mostly it's poor, with ramshackle clapboard houses with boarded-up windows and rusty hulks of cars mouldering in tall grass. This is a sort of deep poverty we don't see much on our side of the border, where rural regions are pretty solidly middle-class. It's been five years since we lived in the U.S. and we'd forgotten just how big the divide is between rich and poor. I don't want to sound like a smug Canadian, though. We have the same, if not worse, poverty on our aboriginal reserves.
Finally, we arrived at our destination. Yay!
More about the trip in my next post.