A hundred years after the freedom seekers, this same narrow river ran with smuggled whiskey — boats in summer, cars across the ice in winter. By one estimate, most of the liquor that beat Prohibition crossed right here.
Same water, the same far shore — but roll the clock forward about a hundred years, and this quiet channel got up to something a whole lot less holy. Look how narrow it runs, dotted with little islands, with a whole foreign country sitting right there a mile off. Now picture this: America had just gone bone-dry, not a legal drop to be had — while across that water, in Canada, the liquor flowed free and legal as you please. A whole parched country here, a wide-open one a mile off, and nothing between the two but this skinny stretch of river. You can probably guess where this is going. Boone's got the tale, and it's the kind the kids tend to love — so let him roll, and keep one eye on that far shore.
