Diving for pork in the St. Lawrence River
We are crying—from too much laughter. The scene is beyond hilarious.
The cry of a loon awoke us on Day 4 on the water, in a lovely anchorage right next to Wood Isle in the Lake Fleet Islands on the St. Lawrence River.
We were enjoying a September cruise to the Thousand Islands with At Last, our TomCat 24 power catamaran, a small but comfortable cruising boat for two.
That made us the tiniest vessel on the river, the waterway for large ships carrying cargo to and from the Great Lakes to the Atlantic and beyond.
After a quick breakfast of Kashi Crunch cereal with blueberries, we head down the St. Lawrence to Adelaide Island, our first stop at a Parks Canada island. Adelaide Island is the second last of the 21 islands in the St. Lawrence Islands National Park. (See red dot on map.)
It’s a tiny spot in the middle of the big river, with ships plying the St. Lawrence Seaway route just to the east of where we are docked in four feet of water. (In a 12-hour period, we see five ships.)
At the moment, we are alone. There are four available mooring buoys and 150 feet of dock space is empty. We decide to stay on the docks to do some exploring. Adelaide Island is known as a significant native archaeological site and waterfowl habitat.
A Parks Canada boat drops off three students to collect soil and plant samples. A houseboat and then a pontoon boat stop briefly to use the shoreside facilities, a state-of-the-art composting toilet. Then we are alone.
The Captain has the bright idea to set the Magma BBQ on the dock next to At Last! so he can tend to the grill while standing in the cockpit. The pork takes 30 minutes on low to grill. It’s looking good and the smell is driving us crazy. We take the pork off the grill, and bring it inside the galley to slice it in half at the thickest part for a test. It still needs maybe five minutes as the centre is rosy so back out to the grill we go.
A major oops starts to develop as the Captain lifts the first piece from the platter. In mid-air, he realizes the string that binds the roast is still connected to the other half. As the second piece starts to fall from the platter, instinct takes over and the Captain reaches to save it. Unfortunately, that move drags the first piece off the grill and both halves of the roast tumble into the water, bouncing off the side of the TomCat on the way down.
The Captain immediately recovers his senses and decides to move on beyond the tragic turn of events. “Take out the sausages for grilling,” he instructs the Admiral. “The corn and yams are ready.”
The Admiral, however, drops to her knees, hangs her head and whimpers, “I’m going to cry.”
Clearly, she is upset. She really wanted roast pork for dinner. She get ups from her knees and peers over the side of the boat: “Omigod, there are our two pieces of pork.”
Yes, the water is so clear, and not too deep, that we can see our roast pork sitting on the bottom of the St. Lawrence River.
The Captain issues new instructions, “Push the boat away from the dock,” climbs over the side of the boat and dives into the water. First, he brings up one piece, then the other, both still warm to the touch, and somehow manages to pull himself back on board, cutting his left knee open in the process.
By this point, we are crying—from too much laughter. The scene is beyond hilarious. We pause to take one quick photograph. Then, the Admiral pats the roast dry, wraps it in foil and puts it back on the grill. Ten minutes later, dinner is served: roast pork along with sweet potato frites and peaches and cream corn, with a shiraz to wash it all down. The survivor pork is delicious.
As we feast, we periodically start laughing so hard we shed more tears.
And we offer up thanks to St. Lawrence, newly crowned patron saint of pork divers.