S.I. Saw the Light(houses)

Last weekend I made it out to the lower harbor again, joined by my good friend MM and some mates she invited along from her New Jersy club. All were experienced sea paddlers. Weather was very gentle, with low winds and only partly cloudy. It was a bit chilly, but warmed quickly.

Our goal was to paddle to at least one lighthouse, and possibly a second one. West Bank Light sits about four miles off Staten Island, two miles south of Swinburne Island, which is where I went to see seals earlier this month. Another two miles further is Romer Shoal Light, which is actually closer to Sandy Hook than to Staten Island. Both mark very shallow waters, warning big ships to stay away and serving as markers for smaller vessels.

As it happens, one of our party has a son who knows the owner of Romer Shoal Light, and through such short degrees of separation we were able to get permission to land there. You know, just in case.

In short order, we rendezvoused at the north end of Roosevelt Boardwalk, portaged and kitted our boats, and set out for our destinations.

Setting out past Hoffman Island.

The Verrazano behind us, Manhattan in the distance.

The water was a bit chilly when we left, but as we paddled we got warmer, and the water seemed nothing against our skin.

We pulled past Swinburne, watched a couple of container ships drive through the Ambrose Channel, and took stock of the lower harbor.

We were definitely on open water.

West Bank Light.

The lower harbor is one of the few places in NYC where a New York paddler gets a sense of the open ocean. The rivers around Manhattan are a tidal estuary, to be sure, but there are plenty of landmarks and the shore is never more than half a mile away. Even in the upper harbor, trafficked as it is, there's still a sense of being in relatively sheltered water. It's just a large bowl, bounded by Brooklyn, New Jersey, and Staten Island.

The lower harbor is still sheltered but immensely broad. The exit to the sea is between Sandy Hook and Breezy Point in the Rockaways - five miles as the crow flies.

Beyond that is the open sea.

Closer to the Light(house).

Far Out.

Looking up.

We marveled at West Bank Light. Unmanned, it's still an impressive presence. There is something appealing about lighthouses, in their remoteness and resilience, something that inspires admiration in all mariners.

This part of the journey had only taken an hour, and we were all feeling nice and warmed up. The flat conditions - Sea State 1, technically but barely - invited us to journey on.

Onward to Romer Shoal.

Take a Break.

Make Adjustments.

Romer Shoal Light has a curious history. Originally the lighthouse was ashore and used for testing new methods of lighting. One of its keepers disappeared at sea when he set out for shore, leaving his assistant in charge until his body was found. At various points the light was operated by the US Navy, the Coast Guard, and eventually automated.

Now it's owned by a Staten Island businessman.

Romer Light, Worse for Wear.

At this point we'd been paddling for about an hour and a half and had at least two hours paddling to get back, not to mention breaking for lunch. One of our number floated the idea of landing, and I took that as a nudge to work on my "manage a group landing on rocks skills", notably, have the person in a plastic boat land first.

That would be me.

I scoped out various places to land. The tide surged about one to two feet in a cycle, not breaking in our protected cove, but adding some vertical challenge. It was also near low tide so we had slimy, slippery rocks, and none that really offered a flat surface.

I found a spot, popped my skirt, then pulled myself out quickly before grabbing my boat and, with a little finesse, lifting it up on the rocks.

I then helped MM, and brought her boat up, and with two ashore we were able to help the rest out quickly.

Shore Landing. Not shipwrecked!

Shore Party - for Lunch!

We took our lunch and watched a dredging tug come in from sea. We'd spotted hear earlier, a vessel with four distinctive stacks on the corners, to make her a platform in shallow-enough water. Done with her work, she was heading in. From our vantage, we could take in the sea, Coney Island, Staten Island, and Sandy Hook with equal east.

Interlopers on the way back.

We launched in reverse order of exit and paddled back towards Staten Island. The tide was slack and therefore not in our favor as had been the case on the way out, so the trip took a little longer.

On the way back we saw a different sort of voyageur.

Another way to view the seas.

I should mention too that we saw seals, but not as many as before because we were not near their winter home. They showed up late - L and R missed them, but MM and I spotted them and lagged behind trying to spot more - so long in fact that eventually L and R stopped and waited for us, took pictures of us, and only later noticed the seal in frame! The photos have been posted on the New York Kayak Company Facebook page.

Unpacking.

Once back, we un-kitted and put our boats back on cars, then drove to a German bierhaus and had smoked meats, potatoes, and beer. It was grand.

Always a lovely day at sea to make new friends and enjoy new views. I hope to make it out here more frequently once the weather is warm.

NY Seals

"Turecamo, Turecamo . . .hey captain, mind if I cut in front of you? We're just anchoring in Gravesend Bay. Or, you want me to wait, let you pass?"

We were in the lower harbor, directly across from Gravesend. One barge captain was talking to another, presumably outbound to inbound. The first captain wanted to know if he had time to pass in front of the incoming vessel and drop anchor. The captains worked it out - it turns out the other was heading in to the Bay Ridge anchorage, so they just altered courses to get closer to the eastern side of the channel.

Last weekend I accomplished a goal I've had for a few years now - to get out to Swinburne Island and see the seals there in winter. I do feel like I cheated a bit because I cartopped out there instead of paddling from Manhattan.

Except, wait a minute, hold on a tic - I have been out here before. Only this time, we spent more time on site, definitely saw some seals, and there was no hypoglycemia. Hurray!

I cartopped out from Inwood, along with friends from the Inwood Canoe Club in a separate car. The three of us drove down the West Side Highway, through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, down the BQE, and then across the big bridge at the narrows, and in short order we were at the north end of the boardwalk at the beach.

We were fortunate in the conditions for the day. Despite being the last weekend of February, the water was 40 F, air about the same, and winds were manageable at 8-10 knots from onshore. We were launching at about slack tide, and would have just a little current against us on the way back.

Our aim was Hoffman and Swinburne Islands. These are two manmade islands just off the coast of Staten Island, about a mile (two for Swinburne) south of the Verrazano Bridge and about a mile offshore, and west of the Ambrose Channel. These islands have their own fascinating history, better documented by others elsewhere, but basically were used as quarantine and military facilities until being abandoned.

Hoffman Island.

Unlike several other such islands in NYC though, they're managed by Gateway Recreation Area, a National Park that encompasses Sandy Hook, Bennet Field, and Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island. In fact, I'd gotten a good tip on where to launch from Ranger John D, whom I met last Fall at Bennet Field's welcome center when we went camping there.

Ranger John was right: those seals are hard to photograph!

A glimpse.

We paddled out, about forty minutes, over some mild waves. The wind was a bit stiffer than predicted but not unmanageable. We took in the view. Even if we didn't see seals, we saw the lower harbor, including Coney Island in the distance, a lighthouse, and Manhattan far to the north.

Eventually, I got some better shots. I had to take a pretty big risk for these. I'd put my camera in its waterproof housing at the beach, and I think they moisture captured fogged up the lens internally. At a certain point, I took my plucky little Powershot out and held it with three fingers, cupping my other hand under it, and stowing it in the Gore-Tex sleeve of my drysuit in transit. It was hair-raising, but it got better shots than if the foggy-witch of the sea had had her way.

The seals.

When we arrived, they scattered, but would show up behind each other. "There's one right behind you," we said repeatedly. In one view I counted five, and then two or three to my right. We floated along, pushed only by the wind and minimal current, and they took us in. One of them, larger than the rest, seemed to keep closer, ready to do something if we got suspicious.

We waited and watched.

The Narrows and Manhattan in background.

One our way back, a couple of them followed us. We were a good two miles out at least, and they followed us till we were just north of Hoffman Island - nearly a mile north of where we'd seen them of Swinburne. Satisfied that we weren't predators, they seemed genuinely curious about these 17-foot long creatures that swam only on the surface, with flippers in their midsection.

The seals look back.

Well, it was a bonnie day.

Sun glistening.

Of course when we landed, obligatory group photos ensued. Watch the container ship.

And maybe ignore the beachcomber !

This was a fun trip, one I hope to do again. Even in summer, sans seals, it is a fun location, with low, choppy waves, views of endless sea, and just enough nearby navigation markers to put fun exercises nearby.

Camping in Gateway 3 of 3: The Journey Back

There's a trick to sunrise. Most people experience it in reverse at sunset. Sunrise is not the same as first light, and if you wake up at first light, as MM and I did, you can stare across the scene - the Narrows, in our case, and watch the world come to light. In the summer, even late summer, The sky gradually gets brighter, and you know it's not fully on, but you can see. The world isn't awake but it is visible, no longer hidden in the dark.

If you know what time sunrise is expected, you can count the minutes down. MM wanted to watch for a green flare, a condition that happens in just the right circumstances as the sun rises and catches moisture in the atmosphere to produce a momentary green shimmer. We didn't see that, but we did watch the sun come up, almost literally, only averting our eyes to avoid its glare.

I watched the horizon, checked my watch, drank my coffee, repeat repeat repeat, until there it was, a little orange nub, slowly emerging from the horizon, just like the art on any number of breakfast products. Look away, make breakfast, look back, and there it is in the sky. Eat, talk, look up, and it's higher. It's unreal. It's this giant source of heat and light that is in a different place in the sky every time you look for it.

We needed to get going fairly early to catch the tide. We packed up as best we could, abandoning food we knew we'd never eat. One lesson I learn from each of these trips: it's easy to overpack food. Everything else, I think I've got a pretty good handle on.

EY had left the night before, carting off her boat in her truck. The three of us reversed the previous night's process, carrying boats down to the beach, then gear in shifts, and a final sweep of the camp. I chatted briefly with a fisherman on the shore, casting out line, to let him know where we're aim for as we headed out. I asked him what kind of fish he caught there, on the stretch of beach just south of the Veranzano.

"Fluke," he said. "Sometimes shark."

With that, we were off.

We had some ebb current, with a light breeze blowing against it from the southeast. Rather than retrace our steps coming in, we headed south so as to take in Swinburne and Hoffman islands, two specks of land just off the shore. In decades past, they were considered for private property and also for quarantine or for immigrants - twins of Ellis and Liberty islands further north. They never amounted to much though, and in any case were landfill. Swinburne has the remains of a crematorium, making for a start but ominous landmark.

Back in the Saddle

Apologies and thanks to the estate of Gene Autry. He's my go-to paddle music on the trail.

We enjoyed pleasant waves and conditions on the way out: water splashing over our decks, a little bit of surf here and there, just a bit of effort to stay on course with wind slightly a-quarter. Once at Swinburne, we found it formed a nice windbreak, and we rested before the next phase.

MM in her lovely new Avocet LV.

Unlike our trip over, at this latitude we could paddle out to the last of the markers for the Ambrose Channel, the main shipping lane in to New York City. This way, we'd be more certain of our position relative to the channel, although with wind and current on our sides we got moved laterally a bit. We looked both ways before crossing and paddled with a purpose, and soon enough we were paddling along the coast of Coney Island.

A little further along, we opted for a break, which for one member turned into a "bio-break". We'd already figured out on the way over that in these circumstances, the easiest thing to do was to have one person support the boat while the other hopped out and did what was necessary, and then climbed back in the boat.

As we were doing this though, an FDNY boat came near and slowed down. I gave them the "big OK", an presumably since we didn't look panicked and weren't endangering anyone, they sped along and we finished up.

Fuzzy Picture.

I have to apologize for not having a lot of pictures on the way back. I think what happened was, unlike what I usually do, I left the waterproof housing open overnight and moisture got in, fogging up the insides. At Swinburne I actually removed my camera from the case and gave it a good wipe, nervous the whole time I'd lose either the camera or case. I thought that would settle in, but in subsequent photos it was clear - or rather, not clear - and I didn't have much worth showing.

Still, most of our sites were what we'd seen before. The parachute jump, the Wonder Wheel, various pleasure craft plying along the channel we were in. Shortly, we were passing Sheepshead Bay, then under the bridge, and on into Jamaica Bay.

I looked at my watch, and then at my chart. If we worked it, we'd make it in under four hours start to finish. I paddled hard.

My mates were happy to continue more leisurely. They were having fun. Often, that's my role - fun over performance. But now I had a goal. There it was, the radome, and the old cargo plane behind it. Our original launching ramp would't be much farther.

I landed on the beach with just a minute or two to spare. Victory! I chatted with two passersby on the ramp while MM and DR caught up.

In short order, we were landed and started unloading our boats. It didn't take long to have the clown car line. We parked our cars on the ramp and loaded up, then put on our boats and drove out.

This was a great trip and fulfills most of a dream I've had for more than a couple of years now. After paddling for a decade almost exclusively on the Hudson and East Rivers, it's nice to see the lower harbor and the waters of New York City that are, essentially, right on the ocean. There's not much between we and the sea; those big ships coming up the Ambrose are coming in from all over the world.

This was new territory. I'de never paddled in Jamaica Bay, and hardly ever along Staten Island or Coney Island. Conditions were favorable; I was prepared for worse. And, while I practiced some marker navigation, there were familiar landmarks to use as a handrail in the event I gave up completely on my chart.

I'll go back again, and hopefully with the same bunch of friends. There's nothing like good company on a journey of the sea.

Camping in Gateway 2 of 3: Camping at Staten Island

Once on the island, we made camp and found things to do.

First of all there was the schlepping of the boats. The portage was at least a couple hundred yards, across the sand to a grassy path, then up a short hill and around a fence into what amounted to a paddock. This meant unloading the boats, making several trips for kit, and then trips moving the boats up. Then we pitched camp.

Once our tents were in place, we could put things away. This seems like a curious habit considering we were only staying for the night, but I have to say that for myself at least, putting things away is comforting, a running of the mental checklist, pitching what's not needed and knowing I've got all I came with.

After that we went for a walk.

Fort Wadsworth is a historic site, the western side of a fort system guarding the Narrows, which is the gap between Staten Island and Brooklyn, the southerly approach from the sea. It dates back to the Revolutionary War, when it was used primarily by the British, but for much of its history was a Federal military base, for infantry, for harbor mines, and presently as a US Coast Guard command.

The historic fort.

We walked up a long road that gained elevation behind the fort, at one point affording us tremendous views of the harbor.

Jersey City (left), New York City (right) 

Behind the fort itself is a steep slope full of weeds and other undergrowth. How does the military keep it clear?

Goats.

The goats of Staten Island.

The goats are kept enclosed in an electric fence. They much on pretty much everything they can in the space, and had clearly left a swath of destruction moving from one side of the hill to another.

Back in camp, we visited with one of our camp neighbors, who owned an interesting car.

The Model A.

He was a retired sailor, and his family had bought him the model A. We're not clear how much was refurbished, how much to original spec, and so on, but it looked legit to us.

Lucky !

The talisman out the side was an old fox fur, not a giant rabbit foot. It was his good luck charm.

That night, we roared another campfire and had sausages for dinner and s'mores for dessert.

I kept my toes toasty!

Toasty Toes !

While our stay was short, it was pleasant. The facilities were cleaner and closer than at Jamaica Bay, though there were fewer spots to camp in. The firewood was free but limited in quantity - and after our walk some of our camp neighbors pointed out a man that they said had absconded with some of the bark off our logs!

There were some kids - an asian family across from us, and some young people next to them. We were certainly a novelty to these folks who, city dwellers, camped to get away from it all. For them it was enough to simply be living in a tent, in the woods, away from their neighborhoods.

Why did we go camping? Much the same reason. We could have paddled these distances separately, going home each nigh and coming back. But where's the fun in that? In kayak camping, you know you have everything you need, within limits, in your boat. Food, clothing, and shelter are there, along with paddling kit.