Short and Sweet

A Beautiful Day. That was the phrase nearly everyone I ran into said as I considered where I would paddle. People at the boathouse, coming in from their own trips, all said that, and eve non-paddlers on my flight path the the boathouse said the same thing.

When Mister Cowgirl and I drove up to Maine a week earlier, we thought the drive was pretty but that more was to come. Sure enough, by November 4, the trees across the river on the Palisades had exploding with autumnal color.

For years, I admired long trips. Anything less than 8 miles or four hours was "boring". With the tidal currents around New York City, it's easy to cover over a dozen miles in just a couple of hours, timed just right. Paddling out to the Throgs Neck and back (just under thirty miles round trip) or from Manhattan to Sandy Hook and back (about thirty-nine miles)? No problem - that's the goal. Getting kitted out for much less than that is. . . well, is it worthwhile?

This particular day, I was faced with a conundrum. I only had a couple of hours available, and the current would be ebbing all morning. I didn't want to journey too far south, but didn't want to be out late.

Behold, the color!

I decided ultimately on a short paddle, across to the Palisades, then north against current, then across to Spuyten Duvil, into the Harlem a bit, and then back.

To the Cliffs
I set off to the Palisades, and ran a little experiment to see just how far south I would drift with the current if I kept my heading true. The results were not quite as dramatic as I expected, but I did drift about half a mile south in the fifteen minutes or so it took me to cross. There was a bit of extra drift as I waited for a powerboat to cross my path.

Closer to the New Jersey shore, I crossed and paddled close to the Adirondack, a sailing tour ship operated by Classic Harbor Line. the passengers took pictures of me as I took pictures of them. I gave chase, and I think with a bit of effort I would have at least kept pace. I didn't want to, however. I was right where I wanted to be: Ross Dock.

The Adirondack, George Washington Bridge in the background.

Ross Dock is a large, square park sticking out of the Palisades, just north of the George Washington Bridge. It's not a dock in a conventional sense: it's a park, a big square jetty sticking out form the Palisades. The river is quite shallow to the north and south, and at this extreme tide, mostly mud flat. I noodled around the nooks and crannies, waving at people looking over the wall, before I started paddling north.

Ross Dock

To the North
As I paddled, I kept close to shore in order to fight as little current as possible, but not too close because it was quite shallow. Quartering waves, maybe two or three seconds apart, rolled in from the northeast. They weren't challenging, and I remember thinking I'd been in much bigger waves and conditions the weekend before, and I sort of went on autopilot.

That proved to be an embarrassing mistake. In short order the waves got a bit taller and stronger, and before I knew it was was washed up on the shore, alternately bracing into the waves and leaning towards the large pebbles of the glacial moraine that is, basically, the river valley. I may as well have put the boat up on blocks, not sitting in water of any depth, and the waves were too short to get enough flotation to push off.

Eventually, I pushed with my hand against a rock, feeling some strain as the wave pushed me in, and that dropped the stern just enough that I could push back into water. Up on the walking path, I saw a bit of relief from a man who seemed about ready to call 911. I wasn't in danger, merely inconvenienced, but I can see how the laity might not be able to distinguish between the two.

Back on course to the north.

Overhead, I saw a Coast Guard helicopter soar over the George Washington Bridge, dropping low, lower than the highest trees and buildings on the Manhattan side of the river. I wondered its mission; to fly so low was unusual, and I thought perhaps the worst, a person found in the water. I didn't seriously consider they'd be looking for me. The helicopter banked, crossed the river, and disappeared over the cliffs to the north.

I continued onwards. I soon came to Englewood Boat Basin, waving at people on shore and keeping a better distance from it. I paddled past the entrance to the little marina there, then found a little eddy to stay in while I finagled a snack our of my day hatch.

Englewood Boat Basin

A fighter jet roared overhead, louder and lower than most planes. Suddenly, I heard its engines increase, and when I looked up again, I couldn't see the plane.


Return Crossing
At the north end of the boat basin, I found a little eddy to hang out in while I finangled a bit of snack and decided on my next move. I decided to take a long ferry glide over to Manhattan.

Looking North.

Normally, when kayakers talk about a ferry glide, it's in a whitewater or moving water context, maybe a few dozen yards. The Hudson River where I was paddling is just shy of a full nautical mile wide.

That said, I do what one would usually do: I picked two points in the distant, one closer that the other, and tried to keep them lined up. In this case, two water tower enclosures on different buildings in the Bronx.

At that distance, it's hard to see how fast you're moving compared to the shore, but once I was within a hundred yards or so of Manhattan, it was easy to see how quickly I'd drift south if I didn't take a pretty sharp angle. I speed up, kept my course true, and shortly arrived just south of Spuyten Duyvil.

I went through, and passed into the Harlem River.

The Harlem

The current was just beginning to change, and wasn't hard to paddle against. I went up past the Henry Hudson Bridge and took a poke at Muscota Marsh, part of Inwood Hill Park.

A poke at Muscota Marsh.

I went s bit further. At a low tide, the "marsh" is really a muddy flat, so I kept to the left and decided to see how far in I could get. I talked a bit with a woman walking her dog.

Hullo at Muscota Marsh.

Looking in to Inwood Hill Park.

After that, I turned around, paddled back through Spuyten Duyvil, and then on down to the boathouse.


The Parting Shot
On the way back, I paddled up close to the Mon Lei, an old sailing boat that was bought by the owners of the restaurant La Marina (it's in the background). It's been moved recently, and later a friend of mine who's been working on restoring the ship posted a video of her being towed to her winter quarters.

The Mon Lei was once owned by Mr. Ripley of "Ripley's Believe It or Not" fame.

With that, my tour concluded. There was a lot I saw in just a couple of hours paddling - and altogether, I paddled maybe four or five nautical miles. See? Not all great trips have to be epic in duration or conditions.

An Accidental Jamboree

It isn't often that I get together a trip with people who have never paddled with each other before. This past Sunday, when I got my friends Kayak Dov, JJ, and TA together, it wasn't until we were on the water that I realized while they've all paddled several times with me, none of them had paddled with each other.

On the other hand, everyone kind of knew each other - JJ has blogged extensively, and Kayak Dov is an accomplished expeditioner with his own paddle blog as well. TA is fast becoming one of the more accomplished paddlers in the Inwood Canoe Club.

No strangers here, only friends who've not yet met, came to mind.

TA working the Avocet.

We set off from the Inwood Canoe Club, our goal to arrive at Baretto Point in the Bronx. It was only two weeks ago that Kayak Dov and I cartopped there, and we saw a dolphin a bit further east. This time though, no cheating. We were going to paddle all the way there from our home base, and back.

The weather was nice, sunny and warm, though the water was still quite cold, in the lower 40s F. In the days before, we'd all discussed what we would bring or wear in anticipation of the cold - and then it wasn't especially cold at all. I wore my usual cold water layup (Kokatat BaseCore and OuterCore, with a heavy sweater), and while I was a little warm, I wasn't suffering for it, and comfortable when the wind picked up.

A wee water break near 145th street.

Passing under yet another bridge.

Playing peekaboo with the Pace.

The ride down the Harlem was familiar and uneventuful, and took much less time than expected - only an hour and a half. We cut through the Bronx Kill, pausing to take in the view and practice a little landmark-to-chart orienteering, before proceeding north in the main channel, looping between the Bronx and North Brother Island.

Through the kill.

And right on out. Amtrak RR runs over this bridge.

My favorite view in the city: looking East from the Bronx Kill.

Looking to the right, the Hell Gate Bridge in the distance.

Here, I was able to regale fans who'd not previously heard my tour-guide spiel about North Brother Island. The highlights are captured in post I wrote about the first time I came out this way.

Barge headed south through the Gate.

North Brother Island just behind it.

As we curled around the channel, our destination was just out of sight, tucked behind a pier. The wind picked up and we were more exposed than we had been in the Harlem river, and in short order we were blown to the little cove, where we landed and said hello to the locals, who were out enjoying their park.

Snake-like hoses.

The final mile.

Passing the stacks.

Passing a tug tied up.

Looking past across the water, we could make out the Manhattan skyline in the distance, the Empire State Building, Freedom Tower, the Hell Gate Railroad Bridge . . .and about half a dozen kayaks coming towards us.

Two Groups, Once Landed.

Who were they? We wondered about different groups, narrowing down who had the ability, equipment, and proximity to make this trip without having come the same way that we had. My guess was North Brooklyn Boat Club, located back in Newtown Creek. I was right.

Well, this was becoming one of the best kinds of paddles - meeting others on the water. Same passion, different path, so to speak.

Baretto Point in the Bronx, Manhattan skyline in the distance.

I was a little surprised that there was hardly anyone in the group I knew. I recognized one woman, who'd come in as a customer while I was working at New York Kayak Company; I'd replaced a gasket or two on a drysuit. Everyone else was new to me though. They were a fun bunch, and there was sharing of tea and cookies, and comparing of paddling notes.

Shortly before we were going to leave, consensus grew to have the group depart as one big group - ten paddlers in all - and retrace our route back through the Bronx Kill. So, off we went, following some discussion between the leads of various groups.

"Hey, Julie, guess that makes you the trip leader!" Ho ho, ho ho no no no. Ten people is too many for one person to manage. I was up front and a bit of a "happy puppy" talking to people, but relied on the leads in the other group to keep eyes out, and most of my group had extensive shepherding experience. The only real clear direction I had to give was for one or two people to come in a bit from the channel to ensure a DEP ship that had cast off from a nearby dock had plenty of room to get through.

Setting out, homeward bound.

JJ checking out that barge up close.

Once we were in the kill, We pass through to the end - our timing was off for a whitewater feature that shows up. With a parting of the ways, our group headed north up the Harlem while our new friends headed south.

Ten paddlers through the kill.

We took our time heading back, partly because we had more wind against us than expected. The current grew in our favor as though, so it wasn't especially taxing. People sometimes get pie-eyed when I talk about paddling for two or three hours at a time, but with a group like this, we had plenty of conversation - telling old paddle stories, riffing on current events, remembering what parts of the river used to look like, and so on.

Passing Yankee Stadium.

Passing Marble Hill station.

So, it seemed that in no time, we were crawling back through Spuyten Duyvil, the Henry  Hudson bridge and Columbia C in plain sight, the Palisades in the distance.

Passing under the Henry Hudson Bridge.

The water near the railroad bridge looked especially feisty, with confused seas sending brief spouts of water several feet in the air. I took a brief ride out there, in my newly acquired boat, a Tiderace Pace 18 (details to come). I found the Pace likes the rough stuff almost as much as the Gemini SP does!

Kayak Dov said his goodbyes and paddle over to his put-in in New Jersey. The rest of us headed back to Inwood, unpacked and cleaned our boats. We each talked about the amazing dinners we had prepared, well-deserved after such a robust paddle.

All's well at sundown! A barge passing as we packed.

And so came to an end, another pleasant day on the water.

Winter Bluebird Day

Mr. Cowgirl's new drysuit came in, and we were itching to try it out on the water. Fortunately, yours truly had been organizing a day trip for that very weekend, and so we set out early in the morning for the Inwood Canoe Club.

Our plan was to head out to North Brother Island, or Randalls Island if we were running late.
No one else could make it, so it was just the two of us, and after kitting and fitting, we set out: up the Hudson to Spuyten Duyvil, down the Harlem, through the Bronx Kill, then out around the Brothers.

Passing Fort Washington.

A cooler hat near Swindlers Cove.

A curious structure atop a barge.

There were several signs of new construction along the Harlem, in particular the waterfront of Roberto Clemente Park and, in the South Bronx, new buildings and the refurbishing of old buildings.

In just under two hours, we arrived at the Bronx Kill, turning left to head down it, and saw a newly-built, not-occupied building on the Bronx side, and a fancy pile driver on Randals Island.

Pilin' for what?

The eastern end of the Bronx Kill is one of my favorite waterborne views in the city. I've been here at sunrise, watching pink clouds turn to orange and then yellow, and on overcast days when the entire world might as well be the sea between Queens and the Bronx. Even on a day like today, however, sunny and bright, the breadth of the view was amazing.

Mr. Cowgirl takes in the view.

What lies beyond?

We had a quick snack of cashews and raisins, as we took in the traffic.

First, there was a large barge being pushed southbound to the gate (Hell Gate, that it - we were just north of it). Then we saw a small barge emerge from the gate and head, curiously, between the Brothers - an unusual route because it's narrow and about a third as deep as the main channel around North Brother Island.

But then, we saw an even more interesting sight, and overheard a securite on the radio: a Rheinauer tug pushing a barge up from the gate, with another tug right by it. About half a mile behind it was another barge.

We decided to head north along the Bronx shore, wait for these two vessels to pass, and then look to make our crossing where we wouldn't be in a blind corner.

Ships go in.

Ships come out.

But then, we saw what the first two tugs were up to. The captain announced he'd make a "left wheel" about 400 yards, and what he meant was that we was making a U-turn between North Brother and the Bronx, and his fellow tug acted to push the vessel sideways.

This kinda made sense because, while we were close to slack tide, there was still some current, and for a barge to be pushed from one end would have made a very difficult turn-in-place. So, the second barge pushed from the side, helping her pivot to face south, and then get pushed into place in order to dock along the Bronx shore.

As this was starting to happen, I radioed the skipper, paraphrased as follows:

KC: Rheinauer, Rheinauer, this is Kayak Two just south of you, across from the Brothers. Capain, do you need us to move?
Tug: Who is this, Kayak Two?
KC: Yep Kakak Two. Near the Bronx Kill.
Tug: I don't see you.
KC: [waves paddle]
Tug: Oh, there you are. No you're not in my way, but that one coming from your right is headed there.
KC: OK, thanks. Over and out.

"We're crossing now," I said. I put out a short securite just to let everyone know our intentions, and we headed towards North Brother, the first tugs making their little turn maneuver, and the other one I'd spotted adjusting course clearly to its port - that is, towards where we had just left and not where we were.

I don't mean to belabor radio communications, but when they work they can save a lot of grief and uncertainty. I'd rather ask someone what they're up to than guess. I also have to say, tug skippers are among the most professional and straightforward I've dealt with on the radio.

After we crossed, I announced we were done and would be out of the channels, and said thanks to the captains, and got a "thank you" in return. Fuzzies on the Radio!

Our Rheinauer friend completing her maneuver.

A short break. Manhattan in the far background.

At this point we started around North Brother Island. I've been out this way a couple of times before, in 2012 and 2015. (OMG, have I really been blogging about kayaking that long?) So I'll recap succinctly by saying it's one of the most tragically-storied islands in NYC, Typhoid Mary and General Slocum, abandoned ruins, not allowed to land.

The old plant.

"Ruins" on the chart.

The old ferry dock.

The caretaker's house.

Channel marker 9.

Bird Sanctuary

"It's one of the spookiest islands," said Mr. Cowgirl - right as a bird of prey's piercing shriek let loose across the cold, hollow water.

The bird screamed again, and again, and we spotted it: a hawk, maybe a falcon, perched in the empty branches of the island's trees. Top left-ish of the following picture.

Where's the bird?

At this point we joked that if we were in a horror movie, the audience would be screaming at us to paddle faster. But, you know, in horror movies people can't know what to do. What if paddling faster just meant a jump-cut to use paddling into a shark's mouth?

Also, zombies may not swim, but they can wade.

We continued on our way, clockwise, coming around the southern side. Here we could take in the view of the famous Hell Gate bridge, as well as Manhattan, in the distance.

 New York City: a nice place to live.

I was also please to see something still standing, which I spotted back in 2014 on a trip out to Flushing: A tv and chair. "An Eames Chair," speculated the Mr.

What I like about the following photo is the doubt-reflection of the kayak's tail end.

Hmmmmmm........

In short order,  we set out our return, observing our tug friends were where we left them. The wind had picked up just a little bit, and veered a but to a more westerly direction. Where we'd been a tad too warm on the outbound leg, we were now just right - and when we stopped for a quick bio-break in the Kill, we got shilled right quick.

Farewell North Brother. Our Rheinauer friend heads home.

We were in the Bronx Kill at a time I've rarely been at, early enough in the tidal cycle that there was still some depth, but late enough that there was a strong eddy at the spot where it becomes a rapid. We played a bit with some peelouts and eddy turns.

At one point, a sizable wave train stood up. It was starting to disappear by the time I snapped this photo, but was quite fun - especially since it popped up while we were trying reverse peelouts !

Love Train. . .Freight Train . . .Wave Train.

The paddle back up the Harlem was uneventful. At Spuyten Duyvil, we tried playing with the eddy currents there as well, but they weren't quite as well-defined as in the Kill. After five hours out, with only a short shore break, we were ready to head in, where we cleaned up and put away - but not before encountering Inwood's resident paddleboarder on the water, and another club member who'd just come back from paddling to Yonkers.

Nuclear Kayaking.

I do like this last image though. The entire day was very sunny, so many of my photos had intense lense flare. Add onto that a wet outer lens cover, and I can assure you that there are many more surreal photos in the Cowgirl's library than you'll see online.

We stopped by for a pint at the local pub where our fellow club member was having a get-together with friends (birthday and welcome-to-the 'hood). When we got home, we both were ready to crash out - suddenly our all-day paddle caught up to us physically.

North Brother Island is one of my favorite places to paddle to, even without getting out there. I hope I'll get out there more often.