Greetings Earthlings. Take us to your leader.

No, wait, scotch that, never mind. He’s busy. At the Olympics watching women’s beach volleyball. Finally something he’s good at…

The Aluminauts report in from a black hole (for newbies, anywhere without cell coverage or internet access) located in the extremely soggy, although still scenic, White Mountains where for the past week we have been enjoying the New Hampshire Rain Festival. Fortunately for us, by being about halfway up the mountains, most of the water rampaging down the normally (at this time of year) semi-dry streambeds is decimating the lowlands to the south. Small towns in Vermont and New Hampshire have streets underwater, bridges washed away and a large number of dazed, blue-lipped beginner kayakers who wash up on their lawns having missed pull out sites some 30 miles upstream. Being true Yankees, they are selling said kayakers hot cocoa at a mere $25 a cup. Hot shower? $50. Pry you out of the waterlogged kayak? Priceless.

After enjoying the quiet comforts of Kring Point State Park near Alexandria Bay, New York, we moseyed further east to Robert Moses State Park just outside the town of Massena, NY.  The park is a byproduct of a major league hydroelectric project that the US and Canada completed in the late 1950’s.  It is huge and, at some point in the past, was extremely popular – there is a large art deco beach pavilion, now largely abandoned with the food concession boarded up and huge bathroom/locker rooms solely the haunt of spiders. They can afford just a single lifeguard so only about 75’ of a much larger beach is open. There is parking for hundreds of cars but we only saw a handful.

Right at the entrance to the state park is the unusual Eisenhower Locks, part of the Saint Lawrence Seaway. While the locks themselves are pretty much run of the mill (although with a very high spiffiness quotient due to a vertical lift of 41’ feet), they earn the “unusual” moniker because to get from one side of the locks to the other you pass through a tunnel right beneath the whole structure. While towing your Airstream under a 700’ ore boat is physically no great feat, it is psychologically a greater challenge. ”Were the workmen sober back in 1953 when they poured this concrete?”  “Did the concrete come from Canada where, to be honest, their specialty is wood?”  “At the 1954 dedication (attended by Elizabeth R II and Richard Nixon, thankfully, I) did the designer say: “This tunnel will last for fifty years!”

In short order, unsquished, it was off to Vermont where we initially anchored up at  the minor metropolis of Burlington (instead of Superman™, they have Pretty Buffed Guy). Being a college town (1 major and 2 minor), Burlington has many coffee shops, pizza joints and a generally youthful kind of feel. It is also one of those places where one can still see hippies in the wild. We spotted several members of the colony in the vicinity of an honest to god head shop and an “all things Indian” store shrouded in incense. Cool.

The Burlington city fathers/mothers (sisters? – there is a convent…) have seen fit to create a “pedestrian only” area in the middle of town that is essentially the former main drag and some 5 blocks long. Long a staple of many European cities, this is a fairly painless way to provide your local merchants with the opportunity to separate visitors from as much cash as possible while enjoying a low overhead. It being the last week of July, the locals were reveling in the warming ray of the sun (“ray” was not a typo – it was all of about 65°F).  We being of sound mind and Florida body, strolled through flannel bedecked, drawing stares from the extremely pale, partially clad Burlingtonians.

We had a strong recommendation from a reliable source for a deluxe restaurant, “Bove’s” near the heart of the city. We can honestly attest to its wonderfulness based on the aromas we encountered while waiting an hour to get in. Once in, it became clear to us that it would be days if not weeks before we would actually be able to sit. Reluctantly, we gave up our place in a line stretching well out the door and went in search of bas cuisine. So, if you find yourself in Burlington, the air in the vicinity of “Bove’s” gets 4 stars! After that you are on your own. We, however, have embraced the advice of our friends David and Sue, wily travelers who have traipsed the world, that when in doubt, “find a good cheeseburger”.  In a great cheese state like Vermont this is especially swell advice.

Micro-brewed beer is an added plus and can usually, for some strange reason, be found in college towns.

Burlington is also home to one of the best named minor league baseball teams in America, the Burlington Lake Monsters. You might beat the (Brevard County) Manatees or the (Daytona) Cubs but you better bring it all if you have to play Lake Monsters! Slide into second and you may just lose that leg! They were, sadly, playing away during our visit. I was disconsolate.

As Burlington’s North Beach Campground was full for the upcoming weekend, we were forced to haul anchor and set sail. We were reluctant to do so as the entire City of Burlington had been plastered with posters inviting one and all to the International Breast Feeding Week Celebration that Saturday at the Town Hall. We really wanted to know how one celebrated breast feeding. Also, why? And was there to be a demonstration? A drill team? Sadly, we remain uninformed.

In the Department of the Weird: well, first some background. From July 1991 to July of 1992, I had the honor of being the executive officer of the United States Coast Guard’s Loran C Station at Kure Island, Hawaii. Literally a speck in the middle of the Pacific 1500 miles northwest of Oahu, Lorsta Kure had a population of 22 men, 700 or so blue-footed boobies and thousands of Gooney Birds (the Laysan Albatross). Also Hawaiian Monk Seals, Spinner Dolphins, Fairy Terns and fish galore.

Okay, so we have our mail forwarding service send our accumulated snail mail to Massena, New York, where I receive (belatedly) an invitation to the retirement ceremony for one of my Kure Island crewmates, Chief Dave. Haven’t heard from him in 16 years so I shoot off some e-mail and soon we are caught up.

A week later Laurie and I are standing in the check out line at the extremely spiffy Ace Hardware Store in Stowe, Vermont when up walks another of my fellow castaways inquiring if I am, in fact, a portlier version of his old XO, only with less hair.  Tom, known universally on Kure as “Super T”, was indeed a sight for sore eyes even though, in an act of gross insubordination, he looked (and, worse, weighed) pretty much exactly the same as he did in 1992.

We not only got the quick catch up on the “life and times” items but Tom took us over to the Stowe Opera House where, in his spare time, he is the technical director. I am green with envy although not particularly surprised as he is an extremely gifted engineer/electrician/craftsman who once repaired the Kure incinerator with the guts from a Budweiser™ neon beer sign. A critical skill in a place where the nearest parts store is a C-130 cargo plane that only arrives once every two weeks…

What were the odds? I would have rushed out and bought a Vermont Lottery ticket except that the payout is in cheese and I am lactose intolerant.

Right after Stowe is when the rain started so we headed off to New Hampshire because the local Montpelier, VT weather channel showed no weather at all in the neighboring states or Canada. What a deal (see paragraph 2).

Stay tuned for the further adventures of “Aluminauts at Sea” Inland. Sort of.

Laurie, Mike, Jane and Pancho (by special arrangement with Pancho, directed by Pancho and produced by, you guessed it, Pancho. Damn those unions.)

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