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.

Whale of a Tale

If you haven't seen it in the news, let me just tell you up front: humpback whales have been spotted off the shores of Manhattan. This is highly unusual - unprecedented in my years of paddling these waters, and not something in memory of anyone I know.

Sure, whales have previously been spotted in the lower harbor, off the Rockaways and Sandy Hook. However, these places are practically the final gateway to the open ocean. Past them, only the true seafaring ships go. So, to have whales so close, first sighted at the Statue of Liberty and eventually, as far north as the George Washington Bridge, is astounding. It's the kind of thing that most people would have said is unlikely at best. It's the kind of thing one might have said as a joke.

"Hey," says the Cowgirl," let's go looking for whales by Chelsea Piers, har har har.".

Well, it's a reality now.

The first day, Thursday, a week before Thanksgiving, they were spotted near the Statue of Liberty. As it happens, I've been working some daytime hours at New York Kayak Company, located at Pier 40 in Manhattan (Houston Street, basically), about four miles north of the Statue. Me and the boss-man talked about it, amazed. Too bad we weren't out there to see the whales ourselves.

Then, when I got home, I saw footage posted online of a whale surfacing next to the Holland Tunnel blower on the Manhattan side. That's the southwest corner of Pier 40's little embayment. Pier 40 is in the background. The shop where I work is directly behind a whale surfacing in the Hudson River.

Dang it, whale, you're goading me !

I'd already made a playdate that weekend to paddle on the ocean near Jones Beach. You know, the ocean, where whales go. I figured they'd been in a few days and would have left.

But, no. Oh no, no no no. Sunday and Monday, very windy days, they were still being sighted. NY Media Boat has great pictures, and Gotham Whale has been at the NYC whale game for quite a while.

So I continue to look out the window at New York Kayak Company, walking along the waterfront when gale-force winds aren't blowing, looking for that whale. Or whales. Paddling acquaintance Frogma informs me that it's two whales, at one point photographed side by side.

Oy, whales in love. Teenagers. Apparently the younger whales don't have to migrate, and can chase fish all they want - even if it means getting lost near the Holland Tunnel, like so many of the more ape-like mammals.

Another Rainy Day in New York City

It’s another rainy day, in New York City. 

Softly sweet, so silently it falls, 

As crosstown traffic crawls.

So begins a song by the band Chicago, one of my favorite ’70 era rock-horn fusion ensembles. The song is exactly what we had: an overcast, dreary day, with patches of fog now and then.

What a perfect day for a circumnavigation of Manhattan !

We had a client flying in on holiday, an experienced sea kayaker from Jersey (the channel island, not the US state immediately across the river). This tiny island, roughly the same circumference as Manhattan, doubles in size at the low point of a spring tide, owing to the dramatic tidal heights. Surf, rock-hopping, and expeditions to various points offshore, Jersey has quite a bit to offer the intrepid sea kayaker, so it was very flattering to have someone with that in their background claim Manhattan as a location on their paddling goal punchlist.

One thing we do have, that Jersey has much less of: boat traffic. More about that later.

Now, this Cowgirl was as prepared as she ever is, perhaps more so owing to the early season, for such a trip, but forgot one key piece of equipment: her camera. Therefore, this post will rely on painting pictures with words. Bear with me.

We’d scheduled the trip for May 1 earlier in the spring, coinciding with JR’s vacation. With various plans in place, this past Sunday was the only day he could paddle. Unfortunately, tides and time wait for no one, and so the timing was not optimal for a daytime trip, and we both had plans for the following Monday. The best I could manage was to leave Pier 40 at about 1100, and be done by 2100, paddling against current a fair portion of the way, and including a significant layover. Our other options were to start at 0500, or to start later in the afternoon and proceed clockwise, and down the East River after dark – something I wasn’t willing to hazard with just two paddlers, at the end of a trip, cold and dark. We settled on the 1100 start and, following some onshore traffic delays, were underway by 1130.

Weather is also not known to bend to the will of man. In this case, I watched rather obsessively through the preceding week and kept fingers crossed that a series of storm systems would move slowly and leave us a fair if cloudy day. Instead, they sped up, and after a rather nice Saturday, Sunday was a navy-gray day of low clouds, higher clouds, and more clouds up above. In the morning and for a while in the evening there was some fog limiting visibility to about five miles, less in the evening. Fortunately the wind prediction was low, and the rainfall for the day was predicted to b half and inch, so it was quite bearable in our drysuits. In many ways, the dank and dreary day brought out more color in the spring foliage, and in the evening gave a surrealist glow to the lights on ships and on land alike.

Battery

We moved quickly down the Hudson River to the Battery, floating near Pier A while we assessed the traffic situation – Statute ferries coming in and leaving, a water taxi that had just landed – and while we waited a Coast Guard RIB boat came over, close over for a crewman to talk to us, even after I lifted my radio.

“If visibility drops under a mile, you’ll need to get off the water.”

I looked around. I could still make out the Verrazano Bridge in the distance, about five miles away.

“OK.”

“You have a radio?”

I lifted my radio, again.

“Sure thing”.

The RIB motored off, and we later saw it guarding the Staten Island ferry as it departed Whitehall for St. George.

We paddled around the Battery to the East River, which by this point was beginning to flood to the north. Traffic was remarkably clear, and we started to line up to make the short ferry across the East River.

Suddenly, as is often the case, traffic appeared. A NY Waterway boat was coming down the river for a little dock at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge. Further up, we could make a party boat coming in to land, presumably at the South Street Seaport. A water taxi came across the Buttermilk Channel for the dock we were near, and a Zephyr came ‘round Battery. Suddenly we were where everyone wanted to be, and to get where we wanted to go we’d have to avoid them.

We stayed in place and let the larger vessels finish what they were up to, then passed along and across. New York City traffic, I tells ya.

After passing all that traffic and heading north up the East River, traffic was remarkably light, nearly-non-existent. We saw perhaps two or three more water taxis, and only one barge, which passed us to the left and headed up the channel between Manhattan and Roosevelt islands. After a while, JR remarked on how peaceful it was, a quiet bizarrely juxtaposed against the city immediately around us. We were alone, on the water, with eight or nine million people within a few miles reach on land.

Hell Gate

We approached Hell Gate, which by this point was about an hour and a half into its flood cycle. While Hell Gate can get upwards of five knots speed, we were on a neap tide and I estimated the speed was still under two knots. We sheltered in an eddy near Blackwell Light, and after a quick check for traffic we ferried over to Mill Rock and then paddled up to Little Hell Gate park, a little marshy nook on the western side of Randalls Island. It’s all the remains of the old passage between Randalls Island and Wards Island, which are now connected by landfill on the eastern side.

Normally, I paddled through a winding stream that spirals to the middle of the park, landing at a dirt bank that leads up to a bridge where we can egress to the rest of Randalls Island. At this point in the tidal cycle though, the water was so low it was impassable, and we landed instead on a pocket beach near the entrance of the waterway.

Two cats scampered by on the seawall, one violently chasing the other. They disappeared behind a large rock, and we her some hissing. We joked that perhaps they had escaped from the nearby psychiatric hospital, which we could see along with the high fence around it. One of the cats’ heads popped up from behind the rock and gave us a quizzical look, as if the chase had been interrupted by the realization that, “that’s not usually there”, us strangely-garbed people with our long, narrow boats.

At this point in the tidal cycle, the Harlem was flooding south at nearly two knots. We decided to wait it out rather than paddle against it, and spent nearly two hours at Randalls. In that time, the water level rose and we moved our boats twice. We finally left when we were running out of land, and also to get moving and generate some body heat. The cold and dreary weather had started to chill us, so paddling against a knot and a half was more inviting.

Heading up the Harlem was uneventful. While I saw one vessel leaving it while we were are Randalls, we passed no moving vessels on it: no Circle Line boats, no NYPD boats, no pleasure boats, kayaks, no rowing shells. We had the entire river to ourselves.

After paddling against current to Peter Sharp Boathouse, we stopped for a short break, staying in our boats. By now we were in near-pure parkland, the industrial storage of the Bronx and the Harlem River Drive in Manhattan giving way to a rocky railroad path and High Bridge Park. We continued on, and I pointed out the cuts where Harlem used to not flow, as well as Marble Hill, the neighborhood in the Bronx that is technically, politically, part of Manhattan to this day. In short order, we were past the Columbia “C”, under the Henry Hudson Bridge, and then out onto the Hudson, across from the majestic Palisades cliffs.

The entire area was shrouded in fog. We could see the cliffs, and in the distance the George Washington Bridge nearly two miles away. But there was no wind, and just two lit barges on the river. We were on the watery moors of Inwood, as I like to style it.

By the time we got to the bridge, a wide plain of fog was before us, and we were about an hour for sunset, so we fixed lights to our vessels and watched traffic ahead. Mostly, barges were tied up or tying up. By the time we were to the mooring yard north of the 79^th Street Boat Basin, it was hard to tell if it was nighttime or just extremely overcast sundown. On the radio I heard a captain complain about something – I’m not sure what, having missed part of the conversation – and shortly after saw a tug hurriedly tying up and turning to face the current.

By Pier 96, it was dark, but fortunately the fog had subsided; I could make out first responder lights on the road atop the cliffs in New Jersey. Building in Manhattan took on a surrealist glow though, their lights refracted through the moisture into big glowing balls of light. We could make out water taxis hurriedly making the ferry crossing. My radio, still on, came to life with renewed chatter.

The Classic Harbor Line Manhattan was heading north. Various barges were rounding Battery, and some were heading to sea. Circle Line Queens was moving from Pier 76 to Pier 84.

Wait, what? We were just north of the Intrepid, which is essentially Pier 84.

We stayed in place. I radioed the captain that we would hold while he came in. Right about the time I was starting to lose patience, I saw her lights, little green and white and red dots, emerge from the darkness, and she started to turn.

“Circle Line, Circle Line, this is Kayak Two. Captain, we’re going to swing wide around you and pass astern.”

“OK. Thanks,” was the response.

We did so, and then waited for a water taxi to pull in, and then entered the final leg of our journey. Our only other traffic was the Manhattan, announcing her return to Chelsea Piers right as we were about to pass. I radioed that we’d hold but the captain politely said, “no, go ahead.” So we sprinted forward as she turned to and pulled in right behind us.

By this point I realized JR had been operating not just with ordinary paddle fatigue, but also jet lag. Having just left the UK the day before, for him the hour must have felt more like two or three in the morning. I commended him for being as alert and capable as he was. At 26.4 miles on the GPS and eight hours of paddling time, we’d put in a lot of time and more-than-typical effort on this circumnavigation – under wet and gray conditions, no less.

We pulled in to Pier 40 around 21300, pulled off the water and rinsed boats and kit. We rinsed our drysuits by leaving them on and walking in to the shower. After packing everything up, we made our farewells, and that was that.

Another circumnavigation completed. It won’t be the last for this season, but it will certainly take place as one of the more interesting ones.

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.

Circumnavigation 2015

"It's on my bucket list," she said.

The client, L, was was born on Coney Island and now works in another city. She'd come back this particular weekend to do this specifically. The other client, P, was a member of our club, someone who'd had a few lessons and trips, but nothing like this.

We were going to circumnavigate Manhattan.

Leading into it, it wasn't clear we'd even run this trip. Only L was signed up until two days before, and there was a large group event run by a coalition of local clubs scheduled for the following weekend.

Well here we were. A full Sunday ahead of us.

I'd gotten in early to check weather and conditions - low wind, would be very hot later, tides - well, they weren't predicted to be any different than we'd already looked up. I worked out a plan with some options for takeouts, diversions, emergencies, depending on how we performed as a group.

When the clients arrived, we did a quick bit of introductions and pulled boats. "We're going to be together all day," I said. "Let's get to know each other." She worked in renewable energy. He was French, but had lived in NYC for fifteen years, and only recently came to sea kayaking.

I put them through a quick bit of paces and coaching before we left, and showed them a low brace, just in case something knocked them off the saddle. With that, we set off on our way.

Leaving Pier 40.

The first part of our journey was to leave Pier 40 and head south, counter-clockwise around the island. We had a little bit of current against us, but the East River was already flowing north. With this timing, we wouldn't have to wait long at Hell Gate to cross past its maw.

Waiting for a Statue Cruise to leave.

The next step was to round Battery, the southernmost tip of Manhattan. I remember on my first couple of circumnavs, this was the most frightening place - there are many large ferry boats of various liveries moving around, as well as commercial traffic rounding one way or the other. But you know what? Most of it is very simple.

The Statute cruises pull in and depart just east of Pier A. They take a while to load and unload. Watch them, and time your move when they've just left and just arrived. Granted we were early in the morning, but these ferries follow a predictable path. Also, on the radio, they're generally friendly and response. You can always ask the captain if he minds you moving past.

Paddling past a loading Statue Cruise.

As we paddled past the Statue Cruises, we were no longer being pushed up the Hudson, but pulled towards the East River. With no wind, and little traffic, conditions could not have been more ideal for our little band.

On around Battery, Clipper City in the background.

Smiles, everyone!

Not pictured: passing the Staten Island ferry and the Governors Island ferry. The former is large and orange, and very difficult to miss. It also leaves on a pretty regular schedule of five minutes after the top and bottom of the hour (as in, xx:05 and xx:35). So one, you can see it coming and going from far off, and two, if you arrive anywhere near the top or bottom of the hour, just wait. There's a nice little nook. Bide your time.

Governors is a little trickier because when in Whitehall station (Manhattan) it's occluded by the slip walls of the State Island ferry. You can take a peek, and radio if needed. You can also just keep your eye out earlier, and make sure you know where it's at.

In our case we saw its radio mast and bridge slipping out as we crossed the empty Staten Island ferry nest. We waited, she pulled out, and we went on our merry way, past the heliport at Wall Street, and then across to the eastern side of the East River.

Our first water break.

"How's the boat," I asked. I always ask clients that, no matter the trip or lesson. I've put P in a Tiderace Xcape and L in an Impex Force Cat.

"It's so stable," she said. They were both comfortable.

From the East River, Below Manhattan Bridge.

The blurry witch appeared on my camera, but the above shot and others came out OK. Here we're looking at lower Manhattan from the east, with the Brooklyn Bridge arcing in from the left, and One World Trade (aka the Freedom Tower, aka the World Trade Center) in the background.

Passing Brooklyn Navy Yard.

Shortly after, we passed the old Brooklyn Navy Yard, now used fora  variety of commercial purposes. This large vessel was the "Orient Delivery". I can't imagine a more apt name for a ship like that.

Approaching the Williamsburg Bridge.

We took another short break at the Williamsburg Bridge, where the river widens and straightens out a bit, and continued up, with a good amount of current with us.

Around this time a lone paddler came up behind us, paddling at a very fast pace. It was an acquaintance, T, who I know from Lake Sebago ad kayak polo. We exchanged hellos and he explained that he was catching up with some mates, so that was the extend of our conversation.

My radio has a built in GPS and according to it we were clocking 4.7-5.6 knots. To my speedier friends aware that the average paddler moves at 3 knots, let me remind you these were largely untrained beginners. We had a lot of current helping us out, though I kept them paddling.

Up the East River.

We did slow down as we approached Roosevelt Island. Shortly before, in Long Island City, we passed a ferry terminal and had an awkward bit of communication with one of the ferries. He was well out in the channel and not changing his heading as we approached the terminal, and with current, we were about to slide by it. In fact we were north of the terminal when this ferry turned directly at us and blew his horn - he seemed to want to glide in sideways to the terminal.

We moved to the side but really: signaling your intentions helps everyone.

Passing Midtown East - United Nations in background.

Passing Long Island City.

Passing the United Nations.

As we approached Roosevelt Island, we went up the eastern channel, between Roosevelt and Queens. In short order we spotted the Costco that presages Hallets Cove, and pulled in for a little break.

Here is where this circumnav plan varied from others. Crossing in front of Hell Gate is often something that requires waiting an hour or so, simply because trips run out of other locations in Manhattan usually get us here at a different time. The current that flows through Hell Gate is, on paper at least, never slower than two knots, and you have to paddle across that, in an extended ferry crossing.

In this case however, we were only about twenty minutes early, so we cooled off a bit before paddling over to the northern tip of Roosevelt Island, waited for a barge to pass, then paddled up and around Mill Rock.

We were right behind two other kayakers, out for more or less than same thing. We caught up with them a little further up, along the Randalls Island shore. It was T and his mates, having performed a pretty remarkable exit along the shore wall, as if it was a neatly-stacked set of rocks in Maine. We said hello again, but thins time we were taking off. I had something different in mind for these clients.

Little Hell Gate Park, Randalls Island.

There's a small wetland in the center of Randalls Island. It's what remains of a watery passage that used to separate Randalls Island and Wards Island, called Little Hell Gate - a smaller alternative to its larger and better-known cousin. In the twentieth century, a number of projects filled in the passage along the west side of the island, leaving only this little tidal wetland.

I've run trips from Inwood to Little Hell Gate with the club I belong to. On a circumnav, it's a bit out of the way, but with our schedule we were facing about .7 knots of currnet against us, and I thought an extended break was in order. We paddled into the marsh, and I played dumb, "how far back can we go", until we arrived at a little dirt ramp, from where we could get out, walk over to some newly-cleaned public restrooms, and top off our water bottles from a fountain.

Reviewing the Paddler's Box.

About an hour later,  we set off again, and made our way up the Harlem at a pretty good pace, until we arrived at Peter Sharp Boathouse - the halfway point, and where we'd stop for lunch.

The best part about this stop? Shade. My biggest concern on this trip was managing heat and hydration. Air temperature was in the nineties, with little wind. I made sure everyone drank up water, and stopped more frequently to let them cool off. An extended lunch break in the shade, at the halfway mark, was perfect.

Ready to go.

Here we ran into an acquaintance, H, who was setting out in his folding kayak for the 79th Street Boat Basin. I've run into him a couple of times before - he's someone who keeps his folding kayaking folded, in his apartment, heads out to a spot somewhere in the city, assembles it, and paddles it. We said our hellos and he waded into the water to launch.

Once we were rested up, and had again made use of facilities and refueled our bodies, we set out again, rounding the northern tip of Manhattan, under the 207th Street Bridge and then the Broadway Bridge. Then, something happened, which has never happened on a trip I've run.

One of the clients' mother waved to us from the shore in the park. We paddled over and said hello.

"I just ordered some chocolate chip pancakes," she said. "From the cafe over there." She pointed at Indian Road Cafe, a popular neighborhood joint. Heck I've gone to trivia nights there.

We explained that we'd just eaten, and in any case had to keep moving to stay with the current. We gave her an estimated time of completion and were on our way.

Surveying the Hudson, near Spuyten Duyvil.

We headed on out past Spuyten Duyvil, to gorgeous views of the Palisades, and then turned south, and out into the channel to catch as much current as we could get.

Looking south to the George Washington Bridge.

Another Water Break, Palisades in background.

The George Washington Bridge (and Little Red Lighthouse).

We moved on past the Little Red Lighthouse and the George Washington Bridge, and then on past Morningside Heights and Harlem, watching the skyline to our left change from parkland to apartment-land.

Harlem / Morningside Heights.

New Jersey to the right.

Out in the channel catching as much current as we can.

As we approached the mooring field to the north of the 79th Street Boat Basin, we moved inshore a bit because some tour boats were coming down the river behind us, and a barge was being pushed north - well out of the way, but traffic overall was about to get crowded. We took some pictures, and talked about the next two stages of our journey.

A brave man - taking his phone out of its case on the water!

She kept her phone in its case.

We stopped at the Intrepid. I considered going, but the next mile or so was going to be busy, since the next few piers were all working tour and taxi berths. Also, the Intrepid is kind of a nice place to take pictures. And I was thirsty. I wanted to take a nice gulp of water.

A brief stop at Pier 84 - and the Intrepid.

One thing that was kinda weird - so this pier is the home of another paddle shop, and there were several kayaks and paddleboards out. A small motorboat wandered in. I'm not sure what the rules are but I've never seen that happened, and in short order the dockworkers shooed him away. As far as I can tell they wanted to get close to the Intrepid for photos.

We set out, glided past the Circle Line docks, past the major water taxi dock, and then continued on the final leg of our voyage.

One World Trade in the distance.

I think I may be officially done counting how many circumnavigations I've completed. I think this is number five or six. In some ways, they aren't hard - many New York paddlers joke that it's the easiest thirty miles you'll ever do - but there are several stages, and each stage presents its own challenges.

There are the usual concerns like wind and weather, as well as group shepherding and incident management, but there's also the boat traffic, places to take out in emergency, and the duration - it's a lot of time in the boat. So, it's not a trip I would take for granted, or do "in my sleep." All the trips I've been on went well, with only one requiring that we put someone out, near the end. A lot of things can go wrong, and avoiding those things is paramount.

Home again to Pier 40 !

This was a trip I ran as a guide for New York Kayak Company. Located at Pier 40 in Manhattan, essentially Houston street and the Hudson River. Pier 40 offers very close access to the waters around lower Manhattan, putting Liberty, Staten Island, and even Sandy Hook in reach of the experienced paddler.