There was no ceremony when we backed out of a stall at the Oakmont Boat Club in the late afternoon of the 9th of last July and picked our way between the bathers, canoes and rowboats that clustered there. Even if there had been occasion for ceremony, the thought that we had to reach the Aspinwall lock before 6 o'clock or wait another hour, "on the hour," caused us to lay a course straight for Nine-mile Island. With its balky Evinrude five miles an hour is "Sometub's" best speed. Past colonies of summer camps on the O'Hara township bank of the Allegheny we continued our way hearing a giggle now and then as a maid in a canoe or on shore caught sight of the aluminum letters on our bow and spelled out "S-o-m-e-t-u-b." The tables were turned when we passed the "Ye Gauds" camp. Phonetic spelling is epidemic among river campers. Their's is not simplified, but rather perplexified spelling. For a mile above Aspinwall dam the Allegheny in breezy weather has all the choppiness of a landlocked lake and affords the exhileration of boating that is enjoyed on a much larger body of water. Here we witnessed a scene that was in strange contrast with the gayety farther up the river. Below the mouth of Squaw Run a group of terrifed children stood on the bank intently watching a skiff which was being rowed slowly down stream. At the oars was a youth vainly trying to look brave while at the stern a grizzled riverman dragged a grappling iron. It was the sequel to an old story. They were searching for the body of a boy who had been drowned an hour before while trying to exchange seats in a canoe. To make the Aspinwall lock on schedule time is always cause for joy by the humble owner of a motorboat. If he is not there "on the hour" he must wait until another 60 minutes have elapsed before the opening of the gates, unless a towboat should happen along. The same rule is in force at Lock No. 1 at Herr's Island. Here we arrived "in between times," but the gates were open and we started in. A lock tender caught sight of "Sometub" and waved frantically for us to get out and tie up alongside a barge which lay near the shore. Astern was the towboat Crucible making her way into the lock with a steel boat in tow. We followed the locktender's directions, but when the big craft approached and the pilot had sized us up, he stepped out on the hurricane deck and pointed a place for us to tie in the lock. When our motor began to sputter and he saw the name of the boat he laughed heartily and seemed to share our delight in getting into the lock chamber ahead of the Crucible. We soon chugged out and 15 minutes later rounded the Point, anointing "Sometub" for the first time with the waters of the Ohio. Running up the Monongahela in the twilight we moored at the motorboat landing at the foot of Smithfield street. Here the boat was taken from the water and shipped to Cumberland.