I was making a turn to the southwest to start my journey home, when I saw a chance to take "just one more" picture. I framed the scene carefully as it moved past the window, but when I pressed the shutter the message "Card full" appeared in the view screen. In the three hours of flight since I had crossed the Mohawk River and left familiar territory behind, I had taken 74 pictures.

For years I have wanted to cruise low and slow through the Thousand Islands region of the Saint Lawrence River. I could have done it on any of a thousand pretty days, but always there was something else which seemed more important to do. The past three weeks have been rainy and gray, but a week ago Sunday, we had a perfect day. It dawned through the haze of a soggy Saturday, but quickly turned clear and warm. It was the last day of my vacation, and I made the best of it.

I took off early and stopped to have breakfast with the guys who had gathered at Weedsport, before topping the tanks and heading north. My first surprise was the similarity between the eastern end of Lake Ontario and the barrier beaches of Long Island, or for that matter most of the eastern seaboard. For much of the trip along the shore, I admired long and lonesome stretches of sandy beach which separated the lake from the coastal marshes and ponds.

The scenery changed as I crossed the neck of Stony Point. The shoreline became better defined, featuring bays, peninsulas, and small islands. For a moment I considered flying out to the several islands beyond the point, but I was anxious to get to the heart of the flight and reach the St Lawrence. I did, however, detour far enough to follow the coastline around to the tip of Cape Vincent at the mouth of the river. I circled the light house and started downstream, along a shoreline that now resembled the coast of Maine.

I lingered over Grindstone Island, making two leisurely circles of it. The wife of a friend- of- a- friend grew up there, and for years it has been a focus of my fantasy of living on an island. As I circled, imagining where I could walk if I could land there, I realized a very fundamental difference between their roads and ours; we think of roads as our roads as a web, whereas the island roads are more like spokes, connecting homes. There is a road down the middle and shorter ones that run to the shore, terminating in a back yard, or as a lane which informally connects several homes.

I flew straight across the river to Clayton, passing a small island which has the world's cutest light house perched upon it. I continued down the river, and was thrilled by the endless parade of tiny islands and island get- away "cottages." There were a thousand islands and a thousand places where I would have loved to sit and watch the afternoon fade into evening, or to feel the sun make its first slice through a damp morning mist.

Alexandria Bay has the only airport which qualifies as a Thousand Island destination. I landed there and easily arranged a ride into town for lunch and a walk. I ate at a table by the sidewalk and watched the people, I went to the beach and watched the water, and walked the strip and the back streets. It was a nice break from the noise and discomfort of my aged airplane.

I covered a lot of ground, flying northeast as far as Ogdensburg before turning around to pass the islands one more time before turning for home. I had boasted to my wife that I was going to "waste the whole day flying", and even though I didn't really mean it, that is pretty much what I did. The camera was full, and so was my head. A thousand images and thoughts fought for the toe- hold that would let them each linger in my mind, but many were faded by the time I got home.

My wife was impressed by my pictures, but I thought they were dull. There is no comparison between a mere photograph and the thrill of a slow cruise a thousand feet above such beautiful scenery. She is pretty much a non- flier, but realized that the only way to really see so many thousands of nooks and crannies is from a small airplane. She won't let me go back unless I take her along.

A poor picture because the camera focused short, but it does show the similarity of the eastern end of Lake Ontario with the east coast barrier beaches.

The Cape Vincent light house, at the beginning of the Saint Lawrence River.

The light house on an island off Clayton, NY.