Red Hook

"You're in a bad spot," came back the voice on the radio.

I was leading a couple of clients on a trip from Pier 40, home of the local shop I work at. We were coming back from Red Hook, Valentino Park, a small patch of beach directly across from the lower tip of Governors Island.

We were near a green buoy off the northwest edge of Governors Island, directly across from the Battery in Manhattan, keeping in place while we waited for this vessel (The J, I'll call her - anonymity so as to prevent an feuds). We were in a great spot. From our vantage we could make all the Statue of Liberty ferries, traffic coming out and in to the North (Hudson) river, round the bend from the East River, and the Staten Island ferry, which had just left Whitehall bound for its namesake destination. We could see everything and were ready to make the crossing - once the J moved out of our way.

"We'll be on the move once you clear us," I said over the radio. She had plenty of room, and we waved at her passengers as she passed, then surfed in her wake. She was basically a floating gin palace, taking afternoon partiers - a wedding party, by the looks - around the harbor.

Red Hook is a part of Brooklyn along the shore, immediately north of Bay Ridge. There are several new pocket parks along the waterfront. As economic development came to the neighborhood, the city put in these little parks. Valentino Park is a small one, perhaps sixty yards wide and bisected by a narrow pier for onlookers. Directly across the harbor is the Statue of Liberty, and views south generally afford the Verranzano Bridge. The towers of lower Manhattan, Wall Street, beckon to the north, just beyond Governors Island.

This was my first trip out here. I've only been deep in the harbor a few times. What happened was, wr had a couple of regulars hoping to just "go somewhere", and based on the timing I worked out some possibilities. Red Hook was a medium level - about 3 miles each way, crossing the high-traffic zone of New York's Battery, down along Governors Island, and then a short jot over. It was about the right challenge level for the clients, and also myself.

We paddled out with considerable ebb current in our favor.

Passing Pier 26.

Out across the harbor.

Onwards!

Along the way we overtook a group of four paddlers, basically from the other kayaking shop in Manhattan. There were two guides and two clients - one of whom was kinda slow, mostly due to poor form.

We kept together for the crossings. I coached their straggler a bit before handing him over to their guides. My clients were doing OK but I wanted to coach them on their strokes and talk through some chop we were going to pass through. The water along Governors Island gets rather shallow at low tide.

Approaching the south end of Governors Island.

Passing he day marker.

The beach we landed at hd a small public kayaking program in operation - mums and dads and their kids in sit-on-top boats. We landed in small swells of about a foot, then pulled our boats up the the side, to keep the beach clear. Then we had snacks.

One bit of advisory, overlooked by many paddlers. EAT! You're burning calories. Especially people who get cranky when they don't eat. You'll need the energy not just for the physical energy but the emotional and good decision-making energy.  You won't always have the cowgirl there to offer her spare Clif Bars, fruit, and other sundries.

Passing Governors, One World Trade in Distance.

We rested nearly an hour, in which time we found a local Key Lime Pie shop, a motorcycle shop, and the loo (a porta-potty). Now, I've been to the Florida Keys many times and that is my benchmark for Key Lime Pie. I will have to return to this place to check them out.

Snapshot on the return, near Governors Island.

The paddle back was remarkably easy - we had quite a lot of current with us, especially once clear of the Battery. Remember that "bad spot"? We did just fine. Once the J cleared, we paddled steadily towards the western edge of Battery, took a short break in South Cove, and then out into the current, easily past the ferry terminal at World Trade, and back home to Pier 40.

All in all it was a bonnie trip. What started as a hot day quickly cooled with winds from the south at 7-10 mph, against current giving us some playful wind-against current waves. The crossings at Battery tested my local knowledge of traffic - really, there are about three well-defined flight paths, and once you spot all the players you just have to keep track of them.

Some clouds rolled in and the wind subsided on the way back, so we did not have following seas as strong as expected - welcomed by my clients, though I was hoping to give them some top tips.

All three of us had had long days at work the whole week. This was a welcome respite from the vigors of "day jobs"!

Safe Passage

My cab driver looked down the street incredulously, then stole a glance n the rear-view a me.

"You're going to work?"

"No."

"Where you going?"

We were approaching the end of Dyckman Street, basically 200th street in Manhattan, dead-ending at a large restaurant with a small marina. Overhead ran the Henry Hudson highway; behind us, the street had petered out into one-man automotive detailing and the edge of Inwood Hill Park.

It was four in the morning.

"Kayaking."

?

"Paddling. In a boat, a small boat."

A quizzical grimace.

"On the water, I'll be in a boat on the water."

"Won't it be cold?" I think he was worried about me. Why was this woman asking to be dropped off at the end of the local "alcohol alley" in the dead of night?

Heck, I was worried about me. Despite a newly paved path and lighting, the two hundred yards from Dyckman to the boathouse can be sketchy at night. I was laden with gear; I held out my key and eyed every shadow until I was safely locked in the boathouse property. I was worried less about nautical hazards than terrestrial ones.

I was invited to escort an expedition paddler in to the city. Doctor Deb Walters was paddling her boat from Maine to Guatemala to raise awareness for the Safe Passage program. A mutual friend had planned to join her and escort her in, but he fell ill, so it was on me to represent NYC expedition paddlers.

The plan was for her to paddle in from City Island, across the upper East River, and then to Pier 40. Originally they'd go through Hell Gate and then down the lower East River, rounding Battery and paddling against a knot and a half of current to Pier 40, but I put forward the idea of paddling through the Bronx Kill instead, and then up the Harlem and down the Hudson. Besides, that way she'd get to see the Inwood Canoe Club, and we picked up some other paddlers with us for the second stage.

By the nature of the tides, that meant I needed to be on the water by 0445. I made it - rousting a fellow club member who was cot-napping in the boathouse to meeting someone very early in the morning - leaving in the dark, on my own, for points south and east.

The Argonaut at Night - Blurry as its Paddler.

The trip down the Harlem was uneventful. There was nearly no wind, and while it was cool, my new fleece-lined paddling top and the workout of paddling warmed me up quickly. The water was glass-smooth. Even in the dark,  could make out the reflection of a lost basketball floating on the water, lit only by the ambient glow of the city.

One of the lifting bridges of the Harlem.

As I went along, I approached an odd hour: I could look left and see sunlight, or right and see nighttime. I came to the entrance of the Bronx Kill, and paddled through, stopping on the far end to rearrange kit and sip some coffee while I watched the sun formally rise.

Starting across the upper East River, coffee in hand.

Break over, I paddled out, between the Brothers (North Brother Island, and South Brother Island). I wasn't in a hurry. The tide was against me a bit and Dr. Deb was paddling in. I stopped and listened to shipping traffic while sheltering from the current in a small eddy behind a marker.

Marker at South Brother Island.

One barge was coming in, and another was going out. A small sailing vessel, Plover, about a 30 footer, went through the Brothers and on towards the Gate. They all talked to each other - including the incoming barge who overtook Plover and asked her to kindly sail aside as they passed through Hell Gate.

Once things settled down, I paddled around North Brother, then over towards Hunts Point, where I watched a DEP boat depart to the east before I paddled out towards the shallow bay that leads to the mouth of the Bronx River. It was around then I made out a shimmering in the distance, later two sticks, then two paddlers. The radio crackled.

"This is kayak Safe Passage, Safe Passage. Is that you Kayak Cowgirl?"

"Affirmative, coming to you Safe Passage."

We paddled towards each other, meeting up about halfway between Randalls Island and the Bronx-Whitestone bridge. I met Rick, her fellow-paddler who had put in at New Rochelle to paddle with her to NYC and take out at Inwood.

After water and a brief rest, we turned back the way I had come, staying towards the Bronx side of the East River, rounding the Brothers and heading back to the Bronx Kill.

Returning; Hell Gate Bride, Freedom Tower in background.

We went back up the Harlem river, with me playing tour guide. I even pointed out the Harlem River Lighthouse. You'll have to visit yourself to see it. Eventually we passed the three sisters of High, Washington, and Hamilton, and then passed Peter Sharp, rounding under the Broadway Bridge to the henry Hudson and Spuyten Duyvil.

The Henry Hudson, Spuyten Duyvil, Palisades beyond.

A mile later, we stopped at the Inwood Canoe Club, where she took an extended break and a photo. Inwood's not far from some decent bathrooms, food, and a nice view of the Palisades. For me this would be more or less the halfway point of the day.

Rick F, Dr. Deb, Cowgirl at Inwood Canoe Club.

For the route to Pier 40, we were joined by fellow Inwood club member AA, and a visitor, LB (Tahe Marine, amazing roller, something like 15 hand rolls in a row while we took a break later). In short order we set out into the ebbing current, making quick time to the GWB, Riverbank State Park, Harlem, and the upper west side. After that, we had ferry traffic to contend with - nothing terrible but a lot of listening on the radio and sprinting forward as needed.

We found ourselves ahead of schedule - which was bad for a dramatic entrance. The media had been alerted to an estimated arrival time, and we were early! So, for the last half mile or so, we more or less just drifted in, until we resumed paddling to make a proper entrance.

Dr. Deb approaching Pier 40.

Once we arrived, there were about thirty minutes of interviews - mostly Dr. Deb, but also AA, who is bilingual. Most of the media were Spanish media, and so he translated and told his version of events en Espanol.

After that, we unpacked. AA was going to paddle out to Staten Island with her after the weekend, and her boat was laden with expedition supplies and gear. Once we unloaded and stored everything, her boat went in the fleet room at New York Kayak Company (where I teach and guide), and after a quick lunch LB and I paddled north again, splitting up just after the GWB to return to our respective put-ins.

It was a remarkable paddle, both in itself and as part of her larger journey. All in I put the miles at 38, maybe 39 charted, and even with current assist that's a lot. Factor in the early morning start and I was beat by the time we got back. I had dinner, went to work the next da, and headed out to the next adventure - but that is a tale for another post.

Cows and Cowboys

A minor digression, given the cowgirl half of this here blog.

Apparently there were cowboys in NYC only a century ago.

http://gizmodo.com/the-lost-cow-tunnels-of-new-york-city-1455215193

There were helping to herd all those cows . . . through cow tunnels.

Your Guest This Week

Over at Wind Against Current today you'll find a guest-post by yours truly, covering my evolution from being a member of the public to the Kayak Cowgirl.

There are some photos up, and some lyrics to one of my favorite trail songs.

I've been a fan of Vlad and Johna for years now. Their adventures have inspired me to chart some of my own mad schemes, and pursue the skills necessary to make them happen. Since I started working down at Pier 40 this summer, which is where they paddle out of, I ran into them a couple of times, and got to know Johna on my recent night circumnavigation.

Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite

The cowgirl took off Friday from the day job in order to paddle to Liberty State Park with some friends. It was time off well spent.

Altogether we were ten paddlers, mostly women, all experienced in paddling around NYC waterways.

It was a beautiful day, with little wind. The only complaints we could muster would be that it was muggy on the way out, with a light haze draping everything in the distance.

We set out from Pier 96 and began crossing the river. With strong current southbound, we stay in the channel, avoiding ferry paths. I had a bit of a surprise when I paddled closer to shore and came around a blind corner to see a ferry poised to leave, but after some hand waving, worked out with the pilot letting me drift past him before he left. After that, it was a pretty smooth ride down the New Jersey side, past Maxwell Cove, past dry docks in Hoboken, past the Goldman Sachs building and Morris Canal.

At this point I took a picture of E in her Necky Elaho.

Morris canal is a waterway that runs between the northern edge of Liberty State Park and Jersey City, with Liberty Marina tucked in far behind. Once past Morris, you're practically at Ellis Island. Here, C looks out ahead. The building is on Ellis Island, and farther south, you can make out Lady Liberty.

We paddled past Ellis, and on in front of Liberty, where I took several photos like this one., with B, S, D, and R lined up in front of Lady Liberty.

Once past and below Liberty Island, we headed west into a large bay below Liberty State Park. From here, we could make out everything from Jersey City to Lower Manhattan. Here's the cowgirl, with Goldman Sachs in the background on the left, and the Freedom tower poking over her head on the right. Make of that what you will.

On the far end of the bay is a housing development called Port Liberte. While it's private property, it's a pretty site to look at, and a few people decided to take a look. Here, S and D paddle towards the restaurant at the waterway entrance.

From the entrance, looking behind us, we could barely make out the Verranzano Bridge through the haze, in the distance.

After hovering around the entrance, we paddled back to meet our friends who had landed at Liberty already. ALong the way, we came across one dead crab. . .

And then the shell of another - only this second one was a beautiful horseshoe crab shell.

This being the second time I was down in the harbor this summer, I have to say this view of Lower Manhattan is becoming familiar - especially as the Freedom Tower continues to climb.

On the way back, the wind picked up a bit, and conditions were more interesting. That's OK, because the lil' buddy was up on the deck.

We spent about an hour and a half layover at Liberty State Park - following a group of sit-on-top kayaks run as a program by Liberty State Park to a small beach landing. From there, we walked over to a picnic area and had lunch in the shade, making use of the facilities and taking pictures of ourselves and the gorgeous views from this little vantage point. I had most of an Apack MRE, skipping the cookie and candy, since it was a short enough paddled that I didn't need all 1300+ calories.

On the way back, we passed behind Liberty Island - it's less traffic, and a bit more intuitive of a paddle. That being said, it's an area an old coach of mine called "the washing machine" because the collision of currents and topography results in waves coming from all directions. We all managed to get through without any trouble, but in part by keeping ready for a high brace to either side of the boat.

As we came up on Ellis Island, we passed one barge, and could see another one approaching behind us. A small boat motored up to our main element, and then up to the lead elements. We were worried that it was Coast Guard or some other law enforcement, perhaps that someone had violated the security zone around Liberty but no - the small boat was a pilot (or harbinger, perhaps) of the barge, letting us know where the barge was headed. We got out of its way and kept moving up the main channel while the barge - loaded with a crane and two truck-mounted cement mixers - went into Morris Canal.

We paddled up - the current fully with us now, until about 38th street, when we performed a ferry crossing - moving laterally and letting the current carry us up the river. It's an odd side, moving straightforward, but watching the cityscape move sideways. We paddled straight into the embayment at Pier 96. Altogether it was about a six-hour trip, of which only four were paddling. As day trips go, it was just about right.

While I like to do lessons learned, it's hard to pick anything outstanding here. In medium and large groups, trips typically break into smaller groups, with a fast group and a slower group. That is exactly what happened here, and while it's good to keep a group together for the sake of visibility and safety, having smaller subgroups doesn't hurt.

For long expeditions - especially in any kind of conditions - sea kayaks are a must. One paddler was in a sit-on-top, an Ocean model Prowler. This model has a good prow, which helps cut through waves, but is otherwise a very wide boat that gets bounced around in conditions like "the washing machine". This isn't bad in itself, but it did slow the boat down.

Update: took a gander at Google Maps, and re-constructed our voyage approximately as follows:

Contrary Conditions at GWB

Sunday, after my Saturday paddle out to the Narrows, I spent some time with the other club I'm a member of, the Inwood Canoe Club.

I went out with Mark and Steve when the current was just past max ebb. The wind was blowing north, so as you would expect, there were some fun waves as the wind pushed against the current.

Of course, this also meant that coming back was a little more challenging. We hewed to the shore to stay out of the current. However, coming around the rocky point below the Manhattan-side tower of the  bridge, I got caught in a bizarre situation: sizable waves pushing from the west and south, while the current conspired to slurp me back out. I was literally paddling in place despite some very strong forces pushing me in three directions.

I dug in my spurs and powered through. It took more than a little effort, but I got past the eddy line and continued paddling up. I have to say, these conditions were rougher than anything I experienced in the harbor. This belies the reputation of the upper reaches of the Hudson being as smooth as a glass lake.

Where The Buoys Are (Back Paddle)

On Saturday, I paddled out to the Narrows with two other women. It was a mostly gorgeous day, and turned out to be a great trip.

The Narrows is the stretch of water between Brooklyn and Staten Island, crossed by the Verranzano Bridge. It is the boundary between the lower and upper harbors. Past the Narrows, you're practically at sea, with Long Island out to your left, and Sandy Hook far south on your right.

From where we launch at 56th street, even with a strong favoring current, it's a three hour trip each way. It also traverses the harbor of one of the world's busiest cities, so a fair amount of planning was involved. It was a hot day, so we used plenty of protection against the sun (sunscreen, hats, rash guards) and brought along plenty of water.

The trip is best thought of in three stages each way: From Pier 96 (56th street) to Morris Canal; from Morris to Staten Island; along the coast of Staten Island to a long beach known as South Beach just below the Verranzano. Each stage would take about an hour, and we'd follow that route there, with the reverse on the way back.

E and I set out around 11, just short of max ebb. We met up with V at Pier 66 (26th street). With the strong current, it only took us ten or fifteen minutes to get there. V was already on the water, so after greetings and going over the plan, we crossed over to Jersey and made our way towards Morris Canal.

Morris Canal is a relatively wide waterway on the Jersey side of the Hudson. The Colgate Clock - a large mechanical clock on the ground, visible from Manhattan - is near the front. Directly across from the Battery, the canal is between Liberty State Park and some housing developments in New Jersey. It shelters a marina and is a popular destination with our crowd. This is a fairly straightforward paddle, on water we know pretty well.

Below Morris is the NYC harbor. As one might imagine, it has a lot of traffic with no clear lanes. The waters are crisscrossed with water taxis, personal motorboats, sailboats large and small, the Staten Island Ferry, and smaller ferries that transport people to and from Liberty and Ellis islands. Additionally, the underwater topography changes, and when combined with all the traffic, there are a lot of unpredictable currents and wave patterns.

It isn't as scary as it sounds, but it does require awareness - of other boats and their intentions, of wind and water conditions, and of the potential hazard you might present to others. Conditions can be handled with training - keep a good brace ready and be prepared to power through the waves. Traffic is mostly predictable for the big ships - ferries move along the same paths, and water taxis have known destinations. 

It's surprising how quickly one arrives at Liberty and Ellis. If you have only been there as a tourist, or seen them from the shore, it's not clear how close, yet how far they are from the city. They are practically in New Jersey - which means from Morris, they were just a few minutes downstream from us. 

I took pictures. I've been here once before, on a trip to another destination not quite as far south. It's nice to have a picture of such a well-known landmark that I took myself, from the water.

As we continued south, we entered a long stretch of water between Liberty and Staten islands. This was the patch I worried about the most, not because of traffic - this area is mostly a parking lot for barges - but because there are no easy places to pull in and take a break. We could stop and drift, or raft up together and take a water break, but there would be no getting out of the boat, or sheltering in from adverse conditions. If the harbor had "next rest stop five miles" signs up, this is where they would be.

Our next major decision was how to cross the flight path of the Staten Island Ferry. The ferry is a large orange ship that crosses between Manhattan and Staten Island on roughly half hour intervals. It does not stop on the water; for our purposes, it cannot stop. There are typically two in motion, one in each direction. Fortunately, unlike water taxis, they tend to move in the same path over and over. Find that path, cross it safely, and they're not really a problem.

We spotted one ferry on its way out to Staten Island. We had seen its sister pass earlier, so once it was clear, we paddled out into the main channel. From there, we followed channel buoys down to the Narrows, with smoother water and no traffic to speak of. We came across a cargo ship moored in the channel, and wisely went around it before the current could push us into it.

By this point we were in sight of Fort Wadsworth, an old fort on the Staten Island side of the bridge, complementary to Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn.

We paddled on, coming up under the bridge and around its western tower. We could see the beach, scraggly at first, but then beyond a short spit, stretching towards a proper boardwalk in the distance.

Our next decision was where to land. We wanted bathrooms; "nature" was an option, but real bathrooms couldn't have been far off. There were some buildings nearby that looked abandoned. The boardwalk looked promising, but was farther down than we wanted, and in any case surf landings are prohibited at swimming beaches during the summer. We spotted some people sitting next to a large inflatable canoe, and aimed for a spot near them.

We popped our skirts - the spray decks that keep us dry, charged in, and jumped out. With that, the first half of our journey was complete. We had arrived at South Beach.

E and I walked to the boardwalk to freshen up. It was a longer walk there and back than we expected, but a welcome stretching of the legs after sitting in our boats for so long. When we came back, we found V had made acquaintance with our inflatable-boat neighbors. We had lunch, swam a bit in the surf, and rested. 

Val got the younger of the two men with the inflatable boat to try out her boat. He was the other man's son, and in less than an hour she had taught him how to do a wet exit and allowed him to paddle her boat up and down the shore for about thirty yards.

At the Narrows, the tide starts to change sooner than at the Battery; the flood tide was noticeable by three. In fact, while we were swimming, we noticed an acceleration of current carrying us towards the bridge. We weren't so far out that it was an issue, but we realized it was time to go in and start packing up.

We were back on the water shortly after four. Now, the next phase of our adventure began.

Conditions were different. For one thing, the sky was cloudy, not with storm clouds, but simply high-flying puffy white clouds that screened the sun for a bit of welcome relief. The tide was higher, and rising, changing the nature of some of our landmarks. We noticed that the moored ships we had passed on the way out were now facing south, against the incoming current. Finally, there was also a steady westerly wind.

With the flooding tide and the steady wind, the net effect was that we were generally being carried north and east at the same time. Heading north was fine - that is after all where we wanted to go - but the wind affected how we approached obstacles such as moored ships and barges.

These things are known as strainers. When current runs against a fixed object such as a moored ship or a pier, it can pin a boat or even pull it under. It's not a pleasant situation to be in, so we wanted to give everyone a wide berth. With the wind as it was, that meant we were paddling out into the channel when we otherwise might have headed back to the west a bit. We had to be a bit more aware of traffic, and had to paddle a bit harder to the west in order to stay on course.

Around this time, cruise ships were starting to depart the city. Altogether we saw three. The first one was approaching the bridge not long after we had left; the last one was rounding the Battery as we were approaching Liberty. The second one was, shall we say, a little more exciting.

We saw this one from a distance. We anticipated its path to be, like the first, well to our right. However, it appeared to be pointed towards our left. As we watched the horizon, we figured it couldn't keep going in that direction within running into some moored barges that we ourselves were planning to avoid. 

Yet, the ship was not turning. We then thought perhaps we were in it path after all, and decided to paddle east, towards Brooklyn. Once we got going, however, then the cruise ship turned.

Cruise ships are big. As big as the Staten Island Ferry is, cruise ships are many times bigger, and like the ferry, they do. not. stop. They can barely turn, constrained as they are by underwater topography and landmarks such as the bridge. So our question was: were we going to pass in front of the ship (unwise) or back-paddle to our earlier spot, hoping that wasn't the path?

We chose the latter option, and I'm glad we did. I'm not great at gauging distances but I'm reasonably certain we were within 100 yards of the vessel by the time she passed, maybe a long city block away. Now, I've been that close to cruise ships before on the water - but from behind, as they're moving away from me. "That stood my hair on end," said one of us.

As we paddled across the harbor, the wind would pick up, and then die down again. We realized we were much further east in the channel than we had been coming out. We spotted some channel buoys and headed towards them. We crossed the Staten Island Ferry lines again, and then followed buoys up to more familiar territory. 

As the wind picked up intermittently, I found my skeg to be useful in the half-down position. Without it, my boat tended to weathercock, which is to say that I'd get turned by the wind, in this case, in the opposite direction I wanted to travel. with the wind coming at me from the side, having the skeg halfway down kept the wind from  turning my boat and allowed me to gradually turn into the wind - a much more favorable position. 

E fared a little worse. Her boat is very light, and while it's short enough to not catch a lot of wind, it takes less wind to weathercock. She dropped her rudder to use as a skeg. That helped a bit, and eventually we passed Liberty, passed some more ferries, and got into the Hudson.

Once there, things were much calmer. For one thing, there was almost no traffic, aside from a motorcycle gang of jet skis that bore down on us like a loud, angry fishing net. The wind died down, leaving us just the current, which carried us like an express train towards our final destinations.

V got out at Pier 66. Adjacent to a popular outdoor restaurant, it was like we dropped her off at a party. We passed a public trip out of Pier 66, a sunset paddle program of the (mostly untrained) public.

E and I continued north, past a couple of ferry terminals, the Intrepid with its now-shrouded space shuttle, and the now-empty cruise ship berths, until we turned in to our embayment at 1906 hours, just a few minutes after our anticipated return time.

Our public program was closed for the day, but some of our friends were there. We talked about the trip, washed our boats, and watched the sun set across the water.

It was an awesome trip. I look forward to many more.

Ferryboat Binghamton

One of the regular sites I pass when I paddle north is the ferryboat Binghamton. It's a retired ferry, former restaurant, national historic place, and now a wreck, just south of Edgewater Marina.

For years, the river folklore was this: It was an old ferry that was retired, used as a restaurant briefly, and then gutted by a fire, laying mortally wounded in the water ever since. That's the basic truth, but the full story is much more interesting.

I culled most of the details from Wikipedia; librarians be forewarned.

The Binghamton was a steam-powered ferry, one of the first roll-on/roll-off style ships to plough New York Waters. Built in 1905, she was one of six such vessels that carried traffic across the water in New York City. She was built for the Hoboken Ferry Company, and spent most of her time ferrying passengers from Hoboken to Barclay Street in lower Manhattan.

As alternate methods of crossing the mighty Hudson were developed - the Holland Tunnel, the George Washington Bridge, the Lincoln Tunnel, and train service under the river - ferry service diminished, and the company ceased ferry operations in 1967. The ferries were put up for sale, and a local developer bought the Binghamton to set up as a restaurant near Edgewater, NJ.

Those plans did not come to fruition, due to delays and difficulties dredging the berth and getting the boat in position. Therefore, the Binghamton was sold to another developer seeking to turn her into a restaurant, and after some renovations, she operated as such for more than twenty years. In 1982, she was added to the National Resister of Historic Places.

Here is where another interesting story intersects: Nelson G. Gross: state assemblyman, US Attorney, Nixon crony, convicted felon and, eventually, manager of the Binghamton.

By his late twenties, Gross had obtained a divorce from his first wife, maried a Guggenheim heiress, joined the local Republican Party, and been elected to NJ General Assembly. He supported Nixon in the Republican primary, and following his victory, Gross worked in various government and Party positions until, after losing a run for the Senate and working as an appointee in the State Department, he returned to private practice.

Shortly after Nixon resigned, however, Gross' role in the election of NJ Governor Cahill was investigated, and he was sentenced to two years of prison for, basically, campaign finance fraud, and after serving six months, he was released in 1977, whereupon he managed a real estate business and the Binghamton restaurant.

In 1997, Gross was kidnapped, taken to the bank to forcibly withdraw money, and then murdered and dumped. Three young men from Washington Heights were convicted of the crime, one of whom had been a busboy at the Binghamton. Two were sentenced to thirty years, while the third got 17 as part of a plea agreement.

Despite his retirement from politics, Gross' wife continued to be active in the Party, and she served as a member of the US delegation to the United Nations. His daughter published a memoir about his murder in 2007.

So - yeah. A lot more history than some crappy little ferry falling apart on the river. The Binghamton is over a hundred years old. She was an innovative vessel for the time. She served well as a restaurant, and was touched by a locally notorious political player and, sadly, crime victim. Her colors - the red white and blue - betray a more festive spirit than what is belied by her current condition. If anyone can pony up the money to save her and fix her up, I hope they do. Till she succumbs to the elements, she'll always be a pleasant sight on the water.

Update: according to recent news stories, the Binghamton's current owner is proceeding with plans to remove and demolish her.

Windy Jaunt (Back Paddle)

Saturday I took a short trip with M, another volunteer. He has a folding boat (that, admittedly, he does not fold much). We decided to meet up earlier rather than later to try and catch some current north before it petered out and turned south.

We left shortly after the public trip. Our original plan was to go over to Jersey, and pass them, and basically chart our own course in parallel to them, but a steady breeze from the north made paddling up real work. We also wondered if the current changed early, or that we were in slack at least. By the time we reached the marina, just 20 blocks from where we started, we found we would drift backwards if we stopped paddling.

At the marina, we admired this pretty ship, the Avalon.

And M took my picture. We'd traded cameras - me with his, him with mine - so we'd have pictures of ourselves on our own cameras. So narcissistic!

Up in the mooring fields north of the marina, we stopped and said hello to a couple of families who had sailed to NYC. The first (not pictured) was a French family taking two years off to sail. They had come here from France in their ship. At least, that's what they told us.

We caught up with the public trip, and paddled with them for a while. We couldn't resist helping out, or giving pointers. We caught up with a mutual friend who was with the trip. At one point, the assistant who was in the lead asked me to check on an orange boat coming up in our rear view. Turns out it was a paddler named Fiona, furiously flying up the river in an orange boat with a white strip drawn at an angle. She passed us and disappeared into the distance up ahead. "Definitely not one of ours," we concluded.

The second vessel, pictured here, was a catamaran flying the German flag. This man said he and his family had taken four years off in order to sail around the world. I asked about the Euro 2012 (football, not the currency) and he said he didn't really follow it. A German man who does not follow Foosball? Shocking!

In both cases, M congratulated them on not having to go into an office job every day.

By this point, we were ready to go back. We knew the tide would turn soon, and we weren't going to get anywhere interesting before we'd have to turn around with the current anyway.

Going back was MUCH easier. With the current, we practically did not have to paddle at all. We could have stern-ruddered the whole way back. Instead, we stopped in at 72nd street, and then paddled under Pier I and past the old rail-transfer terminal. I took M's picture here.

Back at the boathouse, I took some time to go over the Argonaut again. Mostly I was re-packing some new gear I bought, stringing lights and tying things down with some line. In any case, before we went in, M got some nice shots of the Argonaut in profile.

Squall (Back Paddle)

Back Paddle posts are re-posts of my kayaking adventures from previous blogs. This is from about Memorial Day 2012.

Today was an exciting day on the water. Once again, I learned a valuable lesson about wind.

I paddled up to 72nd street with an experienced paddler I'll call Jermaine. With the current it's about ten or fifteen minutes; against, more like half an hour, and a bit of a slog. 

We were against, which is something I did yesterday as well, coming out around the sanitation pier into a truckload of current. Thing is, once past the pier, you can move in towards shore and catch a break, even an eddy if you're lucky; we got clear and then got on to our final destination. 

Jermaine wanted to fix up some equipment we had up there. He'd brought along a box of screws and a hammer drill. So, I helped add an additional beam to a storage rack for vests. As we finished up, we saw dark clouds rapidly approaching from New Jersey. The wind was picking up and we decided to be on our way. We launched, paddled away, and got out to the current. Now, we would be going with it to head south. We'd be home in no time and miss the worst of the storm.

We saw lightning strike far down in the harbor, somewhere near Jersey City. Jermaine suggested turning around to tell the shop to close up; we went back to tell them about the lightning strike. "We know!" So we turned around and headed back out. I think our friends were surprised we were heading back out.

By now there were light but steady droplets of rain. That wasn't a problem. The problem was the wind. It was fierce and blowing from the west across the water. The result was that in the channel there were two conveyor belts: one moving south and another moving west. 

The wind was much stronger than the current, and I fought against it. Jermaine did alright; he actually passed under the pier and turned to face into the wind. I was afraid to do that, because as hard as the wind was blowing, I was worried I'd get pushed up against the support pillars. A few years ago, someone tried that move in better weather and got knocked into the water. I figured if I could make it farther out into the channel, I could keep steady against the wind while the current carried me south.

That was not meant to be. What ended up happening was, I got to a standstill against the wind. Even facing into it, I was getting blown back towards the shore. Only, the shore was much farther out in the form of a pier. The current was carrying me south. I was going to get caught in the supports of the pier and my boat was going to get broken into pieces.

That was my thinking at the time, at least. I managed to turn around and head back to the dock. At least the wind helped me with that, and as I got out of the channel, the current wasn't a concern.

I got out and helped them put things away. By now, the squall was in full effect. The tide was at max ebb; we could see a bit of sandy beach along the sea wall, and the wind kicked up waves that bobbed us up and down while we wrangled boats in a way that we could secure them with cable locks.

A bit later, Jermaine showed up, gave me a hard time for giving up so easily, then got out to help.

In the time it took us to get everything put away - about fifteen or twenty minutes - conditions changed considerably. For one, the wind died down to a breeze. For another, the rain stopped. By then, I was chilly, having got wet and then being pressed by a steady breeze. Jermaine asked if I was ready to give it another go. "Let me put on my jacket," I said, pulling out what is again my best kayaking investment this year short of the boat: a paddling windbreaker.

At some point, I did lose my sunglasses, probably while we were putting things away. I have to shrug about that - though I did buy them just last week. Ironically, they float, but there was no way I was going to find them by the time I noticed they were missing. They are my generous contribution to the Hudson river.

We launched, and got out into the channel. As predicted, it was a quick ride back to 56th street. Without the weather cocking us about, we were able to enjoy some long swells of about 18-24 inches, a gentle roller coaster of waves.

We got back safe and sound. By then, clear skies were appearing on the horizon. We pulled out our boats, cleaned them and put them away. I checked my phone: texts from the mister advising me to get off the water. I texted him back.

After that, the day was nice if breezy, at least till I got home an hour or so later. After that, two more cloudbursts ran through, followed by spots of sun. It's an interesting day weather-wise, that's for sure.

Solo (Back Paddle)

Moving some posts from one blog to this one - from May 2012.

I went kayaking the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. I had an ambitious agenda, in hindsight a bit too ambitious. I also went alone, which probably wasn't wise, but I feel confident in my abilities, and I wanted to get some more experience north of the George Washington Bridge. I set that as my destination, and figured if that went well, I might go up to the Inwood Canoe Club, and possibly into the Harlem River.

I've misplaced my camera's waterproof housing, so unfortunately no photos - I've posted Google Maps satellite images of select areas instead.

I studied the tides ahead of time. The Hudson River is, essentially, a long tidal estuary. Going with the tide is twice as fast as paddling at slack (that is, no tide). Paddling against the current is tiring and almost pointless at the high ends. I have had days where paddling against the current resulted in  basically staying in place; if I stopped, I went backwards.

Low tide was 6:45 in the morning. From West 56th street, where I launch, the tide starts to turn about four hours later, with some light current north that strengthens until about six hours after low. So, my plan was to leave around 1030 or 1100, catch the current up past the George Washington Bridge making stops along the way, and then noodle around until the tide turned south again at 1630 to come back. It would be a long day, but one of my goals this year is to increase my endurance - not just distance, but time-in-boat. 

North

I set out while the sun was shining in hazy skies. It wasn't overcast; the air was very humid. Colors everywhere seemed more vibrant than usual. I proceeded north, past a sanitation pier, past an embayment that used to be home to railroad loading docks, past a long pedestrian pier the city built a few years ago as part of a beautification project. I stopped at 72nd street, a little floating platform my club uses to run a program out of. I said hi to one of my friends there, then kept going north, past the 79th street boat basin and the mooring field just beyond it that stretches for about 25 blocks.

In the image below, I started in the bottom left corner and headed north. The boat basin is near the top right.

 

Here was my first decision: to cross the river or not. On the Jersey side was Mitsuwa, a Japanese supermarket (owned by Koreans, I'm told) with a food court. On the Manhattan side was a floating platform across the street from Fairway, a local grocery chain in New York City. I decided on Mitsuwa because I was craving sushi, and because Fairway's lines are notoriously long.

Crossing the river isn't hard; it just requires paying attention. It's like crossing a very wide street: you look both ways, make sure you know where all the other boats are, as well as their intentions, and then go. Where it's different from crossing a street is with the current. In that regard, it's like crossing a very wide, flat escalator that slowly moves you in one direction.

So, I looked. Traffic was light: sailboat, sailboat, motorboat, motorboat, sailboat, all far enough away that I was in no danger of getting hit, and they would have plenty of time to see me. I picked a set of buildings to aim for and started paddling. Five minutes later, I was on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River.

I took a drink of water and continued north. From there, I had a better view of New York City landmarks. The George Washington Bridge was much closer now. I could make out the Church of St. John the Divine (that, or Riverside Church - I always get them mixed up). I could make out the rotunda of Grant's Tomb. Grant's Tomb! Does anyone ever go there? I think I'll have to. It's so weird, having such an opulent mausoleum for a US President.

The Jersey side is a bit more hit-and-miss in terms of landmarks. There is a lot of residential development, long apartment buildings sticking out on piers, interspersed with far more industrial components - more than a couple of gas storage facilities, for example. So, yeah, if living on top of a tidal estuary where the water level changes by up to twelve feet twice a day, and next to office building-size containers of combustible petrochemicals is your thing, then New Jersey is the place to do it.

Mitsuwa is a bit above all that - still next to some kind of fuel transfer facility, but with the added bonus of a parking lot. There is a small beach next to a sidewalk that looks over the river. Many times, I've come here with friends, or with the public. Launching can be difficult at low tide because it stretches out into a mud flat, but that wouldn't be a problem today.

In the image below, "A" marks Mitsuwa.

One very nice discovery was that a giant log, apparently an old tree that washed up and is used as a bench when we visit, had a donut shaped knot protruding out of it. I had brought my cable lock, and this turned out to be a perfect, easy way to secure my boat while I went in to buy food (eel and avocado roll, a red bean curd dessert bun, and some sort of peach-milk drink, mmm mmm good). I knew I'd need food to fuel the rest of my journey.

Once I was done, I re-packed my boat, pulled it out in the water, climbed in and got away from the shore. I sealed myself back in with the spray skirt - the tupperware-like cover that keeps water out of the cockpit - and waved goodbye to a couple of families who had watched. I went back out into the current and kept going north, sunny skies with puffs of white cumulous.

Bridge

A couple of things to know about the George Washington Bridge (GWB): It's very large, especially when you're sitting just a foot or so above the water, and conditions get strange near it.

The GWB is cathedral-like in stature. It's immense; it's tall, it's long. Paddling under one end and looking across to the other, the repeated arches and tresses call to mind nothing short of the flying buttresses and internal arches of Renaissance cathedrals. Imagining how it was built, even how it is maintained, is boggling. It's a big thing that people made, a sharp contrast to the more nature-focused sights that would follow.

The first thing you notice in terms of conditions is the noise. The GWB is a highway, and there is a steady buzz that fills the air. It's not bad in itself, but as one tries to pay attention to everything else, it's a distraction.

I took a look at something I've only seen from above: a landing bay just south of the bridge. It's basically two driveways going into the water, for people who carry their boats on trailers. There is also a platform there. A boat was coming out. I thought about landing, but a large wake came by, bouncing both me and the dock up and down a few feet. I thought better of it, backed out, and kept going north.

Oh yeah, wake. Wake per se isn't bad. It's said you never see the boat that produces the wake that you feel. I've noticed the further north on the river, you can watch a boat pass by and generate wake. You can see the waves emanating from the boat. Yet, those waves won't get to me until five or ten minutes later. Depending on the displacement of the vessel, and the depth of the water, I can get waves up to three or four feet in height, foot to trough. Normally they're smaller, but occasionally they can bounce me up and down like a roller coaster. This was one of those times.

There are some odd shallows on approaching the bridge, on both sides of the river, and from either direction. At low tide it starts to look like a creek in some areas, with little ripples forming that act like Magic Fingers on the boat. They weren't too bad for me since I was on flood tide; water was coming in. I went under the bridge pretty smoothly, and came into view of the Palisades.

"Hazard's Dock" is apparently the name of the loading ramp. It figures!

After the drama of the bridge, the Palisades were remarkably peaceful. There is a state park built out on the water, basically a large parking lot with facilities, and large rocks to protect against the tides. I knew from past experience that there was a small beach on the north side of the park, so I paddled past, rounded the corner, and landed on the beach. I just wanted to rest a bit.

From Ross Dock:

Upstate Manhattan

From there I could make out the boathouse of another club I belong to, the Inwood Canoe Club. It's a red building just south of the end of Dykman street. The sun was in full effect by now, with just a few scattered clouds. There was a large barge parked in the river. Moored boats always point into the current. To avoid getting pressed against it, I would go behind it, and on across the Hudson to the Manhattan side.

There was practically no one at Inwood; just someone sunning herself and talking on the phone. I said hi, and paddled on. The whole area north was all park, Inwood Hill Park, to be exact, with plenty of greenery, including the oldest native trees in Manhattan. I call it upstate Manhattan because it is a part of the city no one ever thinks about, so far north that it may as well be upstate. While there's a large Dominican population, the part I live in is very suburban, if you swap out houses for apartment buildings. People drive eco-friendly cars, we compost at the local farmer's market, and upscale grocers sell artisanal cheeses and jams. The pubs serve exotic microbrews, and Shakespeare is performed in the park.

Paddling into the Harlem River requires travelling under a rotating railroad bridge. If the bridge it open, no trains are crossing, as the middle section is swiveled so as not to connect the ends. If it's closed, you have to duck under it. If the tide is high, this can be a bit difficult, and dangerous. I was lucky. The bridge was open.

Another tricky part about entering (and exiting) the Harlem is that the Hudson current is moving you while you try to go in. It's like trying to park in your driveway when the street carries you sideways. So, you have to turn sharply and move quickly to get out of the Hudson before it slams you into one of the walls supporting the bridge.

Once in, however, it' very rewarding. I love paddling in the Harlem River. The initial parts are very high, and lush with trees, high rock walls, and little nooks you can't see from the shore. Columbia has a sports complex next to the park, and a giant C painted on a cliff on the Bronx side of the river. I haven't seen the film, but apparently this is where the boys in "Basketball Diaries" do their cliff jumping.

Onward, I passed two Metro North Stations (Spuyten Duyvil and Marble Hill) and under the Broadway Bridge, waving to fishermen along the way. Motorboats came by. While there are signs that basically say "No Wake" the entire way, like poorly tended highway signs, they are partially obscured by brush. Most people slowed down when they saw me, but one guy in a boat painted with Looney Tunes characters went full throttle on his four Honda outboard motors, and I caught a little surf.

Inwood Canoe Club is located just below the little pier on the bottom left. The Hudson is on the left, the Harlem is on the right of this image - mostly obscured by the Google command menu overlay.

I had in mind stopping at the Peter Sharp Boathouse - a little building near High Bridge that's about halfway around Manhattan. That was not to be, however. I came within sight, but did not land.

Turnaround

As I crept further into the Harlem River, I could see the weather get progressively worse. What had been a sunshiny day just an hour earlier was quickly becoming cloudy in all directions, with little holes of clear sky here and there. There were black clouds to the north, and what I swear were purple clouds to the west. Yet, there was sunshine in the Bronx to the east. There was no wind to speak of, so I wasn't sure what was going to happen.

I was near the MTA's 207th street shop - the end of the line for the A and C trains. The Peter Sharp boathouse was in sight, just past a bridge. I was tempted to go there, rest, and then come back around. However, I was concerned about the weather. If it had gotten this bad this quickly, what might happen on the way back?

I had to contend with the current. It was 1500 (3 PM). The tide was not due to change for another hour and a half. I figured it would take half an hour just to work back out to the Hudson (it actually took only 20 minutes). I would be paddling against the current for an hour. I decided that as hard as that would be, better to get moving now than to wait and possibly watch the weather get worse. So, just short of my reach goal, I turned around - back past the fisherman, past the Broadway Bridge, past the giant C, and under the railroad bridge. The current was less strong than when I'd come in, but still noticeable.

In the middle of this image is the train yard. I stopped just north of the bridge here, about 207th street. Peter Sharp Boathouse is the tiny little structure jutting out into the river from the left bottom edge of the image. That's Manhattan on the left, the Bronx on the right.

What I ought to mention now is that in many ways, this was becoming a repeat of a trip I took last year that ended badly. I had gone out a similar distance with a couple of friends, only with not enough food, and inadequate protection against wind and rain. This is why I made sure to eat when I could, and brought along granola bars, just in case, along with plenty of water. It's also why the best piece of equipment I had with me was a light paddling jacket I bought earlier this spring. With gaskets on the sleeves and collar, I could get nice and sealed up against the elements. I stopped at Columbia's dock in Inwood Hill Park and put on the jacket, not wanting to risk hitting rain while out on the water and unable to don it when I needed it.

The first thing I noticed was how much warmth it let me retain. My arms were already wet; I'd only been wearing a long-sleeve rashguard to that point. As I paddled, the heat generated by my body stayed in the jacket. I knew I'd need that if things got bad.

When I say the current was noticeable in the Hudson, I mean that I felt every pull. I could get some momentum, and stop paddling for a minute before coming to a complete stop. However, after a minute, I would start to drift north. If I looked at the shore, I would appear to be moving very, very slowly as I paddled. Looking towards my destination was better: things got bigger, albeit slowly. I adopted a thousand-yard-stare and pressed on. I left the railroad bridge at 1550; it would take me half an hour to go twenty blocks, and nearly an hour to go another 60 blocks after that. All in, an hour and a half from the tip of Manhattan to Fairway.

On the way south, I stopped at the Inwood Canoe Club after I recognized a couple of friends on the dock. We talked a bit, partly about my boat, and partly about the weather. My friend  offered to let me store my boat overnight there, an offer I was sorely tempted to take. Thinking about it, I realized I didn't want to have to come back for my boat, and also, people would be expecting me back where I started. Thunder was to the north, and the wind was blowing north, so I figured the worst of the weather was behind me. I decided to head south, into the current, into the wind. I would dwell on that decision for the next hour or so.

Onwards

My next planned stop was the platform at 125th street. It was about halfway to my destination, and a safe place to get out, rest, and get some food if I needed it. This was the hardest part of the trip. 

For one thing, it was only on this trip that I obtained a clear sense of just how far it is from the GWB to the upper tip of Manhattan. In a car, or a train, or even a bike, it's nothing, a blur on the way to a destination. In a kayak, even with the tide it's a good 15 minutes or more. Against the tide, it's much longer. I paddled and paddled, then rested for a minute; paddled some more, rested, watched the Little Red Lighthouse inch ever closer; watched the water for bizarre conditions; thought about what I would have for dinner when I got back - everything from a juicy cheeseburger to broiled chicken to Pad Thai. I ended up inhaling chicken pad thai that night. 

I thought about that platform at 125th street a lot. I just wanted to get out of the boat. By the time I got there, I'd been in the boat for nearly 90 minutes. The bobbing up and down was uneven and relentless. Waves, both natural and from the wakes of passing ships, would cock my boat this way and that. At one point  a solid three-footer washed over the deck. This was the other thing - not only was I working against the current, but the conditions were rough enough that half my energy was spent just keeping the boat right and on track.

Eventually, I crawled into 125th street. Just below a major water treatment facility, the embayment there is protected well against the current and I had no problem getting myself and the boat out. Once I lifted the boat out, I lay on the dock, trying to find a place amidst the goose droppings to not get myself too dirty (this may seem moot after hopping in and out of Hudson River surf, dropping pebbles in my boat, and baked in layers of sunscreen and sweat). I could see the current still flowing north. I devoured my granola bar and half my last bottle of water. Still hungry, I saw that a park ranger was watching the river. I asked her to keep an eye on my boat while I ran into Fairway and bought another granola bar. Soaked in water, without my jacket, inside the store was c-c-c-cold. I got back out as soon as I could, ate, and then waited for the current to change.

The Road Home

The current took a little longer to change than I expected, so I got plenty of rest. By the time the water was flowing in the right direction, I was more than ready to go home. I piled everything into my boat, launched, and set out.

A long pedestrian pier extends out from the shore at 125th street, and as I paddled past it, a large man bellowed out, "Keep Kayaking! Don't let God catch you! He's behind you, don't let God catch you!" I'm not sure what he meant, or even if that's what he said. I decided at best he meant well, and at worst, he was deranged. Maybe he was talking about the weather. The weather behind me was indeed pretty scary.

Here is where the paddling got interesting. So far on this trip, I had paddled north, crossed the Hudson, surfed some boat wake, skirted the shoals near the George Washington Bridge, landed on two beaches, and fought my way against about a 1 knot current. Now, the wind shifted direction, and I had the wind and the current taking me south, where I wanted to go. This was not a bad thing, but it was not entirely a good thing. It was a weird thing. 

The main effect was that for about three miles I had a steady stream of waves - long, wide, never quite cresting waves. I would feel them pick up the back of the boat and push me forward, and I would try to work a stern rudder position with my paddle. But the wave would pass under me, washing partially over the spray deck. Then, the wave would push up the front of the boat, slowing me down. Depending on the angle that the wave hit at, I would also be pushed to the right or left. Thus, while paddling forward was easy, I spent a lot of effort just trying to keep the boat straight. It was like hyrdo-planing on the river.

A friend of mine explained pretty well what was happening - as the wave passed under me, I would slide down the back of the wave. It would push me and then stop me. In a way it was like in a cartoon where someone whips a rug at an escaping mouse. In any case, it was just weird, and made for an interesting ride back.

Another obstacle was a set of mooring buoys just north of the 79th street boat basin. From shore, they look peaceful enough, giant golf balls floating in the water, held in place by lines. When you're moving though - and especially with current - they are to be avoided. Now the easy way to do this is to stay in the channel, but first I had to get there - I'd been paddling close to shore on the way back.  As I rushed towards the mooring balls, I threaded through them, out to the channel, gliding by the boat basin, and on home.

The pier below 72nd street is a psychological point for me. Once I'm there, the boathouse is practically in sight, directly behind a sanitation pier. I'm five minutes out. All I had to do was loop out, and then in. 

To my surprise, the public program was still going - regular folks who walk up, and we put them in a boat, and they paddle around the embayment. It wasn't really a surprise - of course they were still out, since it wasn't 1800 yet. I had made it back before my estimated return time. As I glided in, I remembered that that was how I started - paddling in an embayment, when the boathouse was located at Pier 26. I've come a long way from all that, learning from others as well as from my own mistakes.

I got out, pulled out my boat, and started taking my gear out to hose everything down with fresh water before putting it away. I saw that my boyfriend had texted me, asking if "the rain" had hit us yet. 

I looked up, and saw droplets marching across the river, an approaching sheet of precipitation coming off the water, across the embayment, up the deck, and onto my boat. I waited inside until it abated, and then cleaned up and put everything away.

Lessons Learned

I was nervous about this trip. It's the third time I've gone out alone; since I bought my own boat, I've taken three trips alone in fairly short order, to 72nd street, to about 86th street, and now, about halfway around Manhattan. I'm confident in my abilities, but it's always nice to have someone else along, in case things go really, really wrong. I was also nervous about the distance - I've gone that far before, but not often, and certainly not on my own.

I was adequately prepared, but barely. I plan to start stocking more food, and even water in my boat - both as stock to keep around for sharing, and for long trips like this one. All in, I consumed 72 ounces of water, and another 16 of the juice I got at Mitsuwa. I had a decent sized breakfast and lunch, but still needed extra energy for the trip back. If I add it all up and account for paddling, I think I came up rather short on calories for the day.

I'd also be more definite about my plans. I wanted to go to Peter Sharp, but I didn't look up just how far it was. I was happy enough to get into the Harlem. If there had been a place to land, I would have, and waited out the tides. If the weather had not looked so ominous, I might have done so at Inwood.

This was my first real test for planning a trip and executing it. It was also a test of the skills and local conditions knowledge that I've been developing for the past five years. I knew what to look for, and how to adapt my plans to changing conditions. While I will do things differently in the future, I think I did pretty well.