Goulash

I've had this jar of Hungarian-style goulash in my freezer for months. I made it back in November, jarred it, and had it in doses in the early winter. Once, I took some on a paddling trip, and it was great. Ever since then, this jar has been staring at me, insisting, take me with you. I'll be a warm meal on a chilly day's paddle.

I finally did.

Yesterday I paddled to Randalls Island. I made the decision late, having had several options and new constraints. What I really wanted to do was paddle north on the Hudson, perhaps as far as Piermont Pier. However, the tides this weekend made that impractical without a later return than I wanted, and additionally strong winds, withs gusts up to 30 mph, were predicted. I didn't want to go south.

I headed north our of Inwood, with some wind at my back but nothing terrible. I popped under Spuyten Duyvil and literally went back and forth, thinking of where I wanted to go. I decided Randalls because if the winds did kick up, there wouldn't be as much fetch.

Heading down the Harlem was very straightforward. I knew it would be flowing my way by then, and the markers went by quickly: Peter Sharp, the High Bridge, Yankee Stadium, and so on. Since I don't know the lower half very well, I took notes of possible emergency egress points: there are some rocky shores where an ambulatory but sick paddler could get out below High Bridge, and Macombs Dam Bridge has wide steps leading up out of the water. The Manhattan-side greenway between 125th and 145 has some new caged riprap, but also "eco steps" separated only by a fence from the sidewalk. These are good things to know when running a trip along these waters.

I took a peek at Bronx Kill. I arrived at just over an hour before Battery high water, and the water here was very, very low. A small island had appeared at the mouth of the Kill, and not too much further in was a wider island with birds walking on it. The water was shallow enough that my paddle tapped mud easily. I considered going through the Kill, but backed out because I was more interested in seeing the south shore of Randalls.

Below the RFK bridge, no far from a small barge sticking out from Randalls, I saw an unusual sigh:  dinghy with two women. I didn't get their names, but one of them had built the boat! They'd put in at Randalls, and while there weren't affiliated with a club they mentioned some work with the North Brooklyn Boathouse. In a refreshing sight, both were wearing properly fitted PFDs. So many people I've met on the water don't have basic safety in mind.

I continued on, planning to peek at Hell Gate. In short order I spotted Mill Rock, and hugging the Randalls coast, I came around the southern edge. The water was flat though certainly moving. I watched a ship chug in against the current. I decided to stay closer to shore since I didn't want to g into a fast moving shipping channel that I didn't know very well. Turns out, that was a mistake.

There is a triangular area that sticks out from Randalls where the water is very shallow - 2 feet MHW. Conveniently, there is a pile of rocks at the point of this triangle, marking the channel for ships. I thought I could pass over his area, being in a kayak. However, as I got closer, I saw a line of breaking waves.  Not Good, I thought. Can I handle breaking waves? Sure, but why were they breaking. Were they rocks? I wasn't sure. I paddled backwards to give myself time to think, then decided to turn to and ferry glide to Randalls.

I paddled back, against the current, and landed at a small tidal beach for lunch. I pulled out my lunch, put my PFD and paddle up on the seawall, and then spotted a Circle Line ship passing Mill Rock.

That ship was kicking up some beautiful bow wake. A lot of bow wake.

Bow wake coming towards me, and the water was shallow.

I grabbed the front toggle of my boat and one deck line, dug my feet into the beach and kept clear of where my boat would get carried. Sure enough, a series of waves arrives and wrapped around my ankles and lower calves, and cocked my boat up the beach while I held onto it.

Now, these weren't violent waves. They weren't dangerous. However, I didn't want to have to swim after my boat. When it was all done, I looked for a patch that was still dry, and carried my boat over there, nestling it between some rocks to keep it safe while I sat on the wall eating lunch.

The Argonaut nestled on Randalls Island.

No other vessels came by. I enjoyed a nice view of Manhattan, on a sunny day, thinking about my approach to Hell Gate. I'll do it one day, but with friends and warmer water. I had about an hour to kill, so I rested and digested, rather pleased with myself. Oh and the goulash? It was very good, along with some crackers and peanut butter, and of course hot tea.

I saw that the tide was gently creeping in, and decided to leave earlier than planned. I've be against some current, but things would get easier, and I'd get back to the boathouse in time for a phone call I needed. The paddle back was uneventful, and sang plenty of trail tunes to keep myself entertained (and, to practice). Singing while paddling isn't the easiest thing to do, what with the physical exertion and all.

Left my pogies on the paddle.

Oddly enough, the most challenging part of the trip was the last leg. As I came under Broadway Bridge, it was clear there was a strong wind coming off the Hudson. As I paddled further, it became a massive headwind. I knew I was moving forward, with the current and by looking at the shore, but it felt like I was paddling into a wall. I crept forward, keeping an eye on Spuyten Duyvil. What was this wind doing to the water past the railroad bridge?

The short answer was, nothing terrible. There was some chop, but nothing I hadn't experienced before. I slipping under the bridge and bounced up and down for about five minutes. Fortunately the wind changed direction so it wasn't coming quite abeam, and not cocking my boat much. It was slack water, so I still had some work cut out, but getting home was no problem.

As I approached, I saw the garage door of the boathouse wide open, and after landing, caught up with some fellow club members who were doing some work. I unpacked, washed the Argonaut, and changed clothes.

It was a good day on the water.

Bon March

Low wind, air temp in the high fifties sunny to partly cloudy? Sounded like a perfect day for a paddle to me. I sent out an invite to my regular cold water paddling coterie. I only got one response, and even he later dropped out, so Saturday March 8 ended up being a solo paddle.

I could tell it was going to be great when I looked out my living room window. It was sunny! And, the snow on the ground had been clear for a week. After packing all my gear, I walked up through the Cloisters, looking down from the heights at the Hudson. I saw no big patches of ice.

When I got to the boathouse, I could only make out little "berglets" - not the chunky ice bisque of February, or the great slabs of ice in January. I packed up the Argonaut and set out.

From the Inwood Canoe Club Dock.

I set out south, catching the very last of the ebb tide current as it went slack. I had a couple of destination ideas in mind, inspired in part by Frogma's meander paddling in Jamaica Bay last week. Since I was on my own, I wouldn't have to worry about other people's schedules or stamina. I had lunch - a Beef Stew MRE pack and plenty of water and tea. Where would the day take me?

My first major 'berg.

Still waters, plenty of ice.

I decided to cross the Hudson above the George Washington Bridge. My thinking was that I wanted to get to that side anyway, and it was a nice enough day that there was very little risk. I also wanted to avoid some funny little shoals on the eastern side of the channel. I waited for a barge to pass, and then crossed.

I made for the ferryboat Binghamtom, one of my more sentimental stops on the Hudson. Sadly, I don't expect her to be around much longer, and she looks worse every time I see her.

A loose piling floats alongside the Binghamton.

The interior continues to fade aware from exposure.

I made a stop at Mitsuwa, no getting out but deciding my next course. Mitsuwa is a Japanese supermarket in Fort Lee, New Jersey. There is a small beach kayaks can land on. I didn't need food though, and I wanted to explore further south to see if there were other places to take out. Unfortunately more of that side of the river is shored by big rocky boulder beaches. Yes, I can take out there, but if I were shepherding a group of beginners, I wouldn't rely on it.

I came out of a cove to this view.

Looking south, Manhattan on the left, New Jersey on the right.

I spoke to a woman and her little girl on shore. It being International Women's Day, I was sort of hoping I'd inspire my gender to take up sea kayaking, even though when dolled up in a drysuit, PFD, and and wool cap, I look more like an androgynous egg yolk.

I knew the tide had already changed, and decided I wanted to cross back before it got too strong. I was concerned that a faster current might bring ice towards me while I was trying a ferry crossing. The current was not nearly as strong as I expected. 

I was able to make it pretty easily to the 9th Street Boat Basin. I was hoping for their kayak launch as a takeout point, but I didn't see it where I thought it was meant to be. So, I paddled past their icebreakers, a d took this photo.

Ice along the Upper West Side Seawall.

Onwards I went. By now I was definitely getting hungry. I watches one southbound barge pass another, and afterwards paddled out into the current to expedite my path to Fairway, where there is a small kayak launch jutting out from the park. You know, "like no other market". From there I took this picture of yet another berglet.

Baby 'berg at 125th street.

A friendly passerby pointed out that the gate to the dock was locked. "No problem, mate," I thought to myself, "I've got all I need with me." I found a patch on the dock that wasn't covered in goose poop and pulled out my rations, heating up the beef stew while I nibbled on crackers and peanut butter, followed by an oatmeal cookie, all washing down with hot tea. Once again, I found a milkshake mix in the MRE. I will have to try one of those sometime.

After reseting and digesting,  set out again, with much stronger current. This was a good thing, because I am not in peak condition, owing to less frequent paddling in this icy winter. The wind picked up a bit and I did a lot of sweep-forward sweep-forward, in some cases sweep-forward-forward-forward, till I got up to the Little Red Lighthouse, where a surprising number of people were sunning themselves on the rocks, taking selfies, lovers kissing. I waved at some kids, and then rounded the point, moving on past the red marker boy and on back to Inwood.

Here is a link to my approximate route. I used to embed the HTML directly; I haven't figured out how to do that with the new Google Maps.

https://mapsengine.google.com/map/edit?mid=zx4Zw8K5sa4g.kcoW_cm66Tco

All in, it was a great paddle. I ran into fellow club member and SUP'er Mac Levine on the way out. I packed up, cleaned the Argonaut, and went into a paddle come when I got home. Next week is the official start of Spring. I can't wait.

XXX

Finally

I was able to get out briefly on the water - on actual coastal seawater conditions - Saturday. The whole weekend was beautiful, with air temperatures in the high forties. After the winter we've experienced so far, that felt downright tropical.

I went with my friend and fellow teaching assistant SS. We worked together at NYKC last summer and have kept in touch through the winter season. SS hadn't been out since November, and I'd only been out a couple of times since then, so we took it easy. we did a lap around the Pier 40 embayment before heading south towards Battery.

But first, quelle horreur, we discovered our favorite boats were no longer available. I'd taken to paddling an Impex Montauk near the end of the season, and she'd been in an Impex Mystic, perfectly sized for her petite frame. The Montauk was gone, presumably sold, and the Mystic had a note on it, to the effect that its new owner would be picking it up shortly for its new home in Maine.

Such are the hazards of relying on equipment that is not your own. Instead, I took out a yellow Impex Force Cat 4, and SS took out a Tiderace Xcite-S. Both were more than capable for our needs.

While the air temperature was warm, the water was not: last reported near 35 degrees Fahrenheit at the Battery, drysuits and layers were mandated. I took the opportunity to try out some new neoprene pogies, and I cannot say enough good things about them. They were excellent. They kept the wind off my knuckles and kept my hands warmer than they've even been in the winter. These particular ones had wide, stiff collars, making it easy to slip my hands in and out of. They were perfect.

We left shortly after the flood tide started. It wasn't strong enough to hold us back, but it meant that we would not get very far. To head out much farther past Battery would have been pointless, and a steady wind made us decide not to risk a river crossing. It was only 10-12 knots, but with gusts up to 30 reported, we were seeing some sizable waves, with whitecaps forming shortly after we returned.

We also experienced following seas, which were novel to SS. Following seas are when waves come from behind, moving faster than your boat. They lift the back of the boat, move underneath, and then lift the front of the boat as the wave runs on ahead. Then, the next one arrives, and the next, and the next, and so on. The effect is like stop-and-go traffic: the initial lift pushes the boat forwards, but then hits the breaks as it moves in front. It can also make for an unsteady feeling, as the boat may yaw (pivot sideways) unless a stern rudder is used to correct and hold steady.

We had this almost the entire way back. We took short breaks in South Cove, and later near Pier 26, before dotting out and around the Holland Tunnel blower. Before landing we spotted VB of Wind Against Current getting his boat ready to launch, and later spotted the other half of that blog, JJ, getting her boat ready. I am sure they went quite a bit farther than we did.

All in all it was a good paddle. It was a beautiful day, and we got a hint of spring even though it's still February and cold temperatures are predicted to return shortly.

Dedication

It's hard not to feel dedicated when you find yourself part of a line of people carrying whitewater boats over should across fifty yards of snow eight inches deep, from their storage spot underneath some stadium bleachers to the indoor pool, and back again later on. Especially after the session, effectively a full workout, the cold night air is refreshing, cooling off all the heat worked up inside.

It's a bit of effort to get out there as well. Bereft of my car-equipped friend, I took the PATH train all the way out to Newark, and then local light rail to New Jersey Institute of Technology's campus. It was about an hour commute, and remarkably cheap if you think about it, but still, an hour each way, plus another forty-five minutes to get home once I'd got back to the city. I was a tired pup the next day, but in a good way.

I've been working on my right-setup roll. I've got my left-setup roll down, both a sweep and a C-to-C (and, more often, what I actually do is like a sweep-to-C). On the opposite side I am developing the fluid body motion. I know what I need to do; my reflexes aren't cooperating.

Step one, getting my hip flick. I realized that I simply wasn't snapping my hip as well, so I practiced that a bit.

Step two, getting the paddle in the right place. I feel like I'm not reaching far enough with my forward (that is, left) arm, and I'm diving the paddle. I'm rotating, but at a cockeyed angle.

I am improving. I've been able to do one or two of these per session. I'll give it two or three shots and then if I'm running out of air, I'll switch and come up on the other side.

One more thing: nose plugs. These make such a huge difference for practicing. True, in a real life situation you won't have them, but for practice, going in repeatedly, they're great. Without them, a couple of rounds of chlorine will force me to take a break. With them, I can go, and keep going, and really take the time underwater to figure out what's going wrong.

Pool Jam

I've been to two different pool programs lately, one operated by some acquaintances from the Yonker and DTBH programs, another through a friend who does whitewater with the AMC. With as much as ice as there has been cluttering the shores of the Hudson lately, I've welcomed the opportunity to really work out - and practice instruction - in a more hospitable venue.

There's a pretty common dynamic to pool programs. The first hour or so is pretty empty, as only the hardcore regulars are there on time, and help set up, and get in the water. Then the students and other neophytes come in, and the lead instructors peel off and give them all the time they need, standing in the pool, supervising wet exits, and so on. Then, as more students get to where they can noodle around on their own, the pool fills up, till it's a shifting seascape of boats and paddles.

Then, theres rolling. Everyone is rolling except the newbies. Pools are great for rolling practice, as the water is clean and clear, and you and your mates can really see what you're doing. Did the paddle dive, was it not in the right position? Was there no hip flick? And so on. I worked a bit on my "offside" - remember, there is no such thing as an offside - but also got in three in under a minute, which is practice for a particular long-term goal I have.

Pool programs tend to be less structured, ironically given how much goes into organizing them. I think this is because the ratio of instructors to students can vary widely and change on short notice. I'm of the opinion that most instruction, especially for newbies, really needs to occur in stages: one or two things and then practice, and next time, review, add one or two things, practice. Color me skeptical of being able to teach a someone everything in an hour and have them remember even half of it the next week.

I spent a fair amount of time practicing my hanging draw and some bracing turns, which are kinda ridiculous in whitewater boats. The extreme stability of the boat I was in allowed me to push my own mental limits. With one of the instructors, I really got low on my sculling brace, and that felt good. Now for warmer climes, when I can take my own boat out on the river and attempt the same.

Old Home Movies of Tubby Hook

I had a opportunity to see a compilation of home movies made in the Inwood area of Manhattan, shot in the 1930s. It was at a party held by the Inwood Canoe Club. There was plenty of footage of the club's waterways, an area known as Tubby Hook.

It was fascinating. We've all heard that the area was a busy, thriving waterfront, but here we saw motion pictures of a long row of boathouses, docks, and even the old ferry terminal at the end of Dyckman. For that matter, there was footage of the George Washington Bridge being built - at some points just a long cable, with the roadway not yet complete. As bucolic as the area is today, it's hard to imagine it was once as busy as the waters further downtown.

The array of vessels is astonishing as well. Not only was there a decent-sized ferry, but there were sailing canoes, speedboats, naval warships, seaplanes taking off and landing, along with tugs and barges as there are today. The mighty Graf Zeppelin, Germany's grandest dirigible, floated over the Palisades.

There was footage of ice that could just as easily have been taken yesterday, or last month. A couple of guys went out in a canoe in a slurry; one even climbed out on a slab of ice, and another fell in the river wearing street clothes and a wool coat. In a way it sort of puts to shame my trepidation about paddling in the ice floe, but also kinda validates everything I've ever taught and been taught about the cold water safety.

The funniest part was the narrator, with an old-fashioned New York City accent and vocabulary ("New Joysee", "schlub") and blunt commentary (" I don't know what this is, it's boring, my father liked boring things, I dunno").

The film is well worth a watch, and will be playing this Tuesday at Indian Road Cafe around 730 PM.  For details view the following link.

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/EVENTS-AT-INDIAN-ROAD--1-31-2-6.html?soid=1102084407457&aid=8p1D9iJKAnY

Shepherding - Club Trips

The last time I wrote about shepherding groups, it was in a commercial context. More often, intermediate paddlers will find themselves in the role of shepherding trips with their clubs, which can introduce different dynamics.

Why Are We Going?
I've belonged to a couple of different clubs in New York City, and paddled with people from other clubs as well. One question that is rarely asked, and answered even less frequently, is, "why are we going?"

Clubs that rely on volunteer membership will use trips as rewards to their volunteers. Special trips for volunteers only, which are not open to the public or general membership, allow volunteers to feel like their efforts are appreciated, and give them perhaps their first set of bragging rights. Volunteer trips can also be training trips, putting the volunteers in more challenging conditions than usual, and using teachable moments to practice the skills they are expected to have when running the clubs regular programs.

Clubs that are more collegial - for lack of a better term, where members are more or less equal in status and simply band together as an organization for the mutual operation of activities - trips are very much social, and the goals of trips may vary with the leadership of the club. Trips can serve a number of functions, from providing opportunities to less experienced members to socialize and learn from more experienced members, to providing programs, or at least evidence of activities, to ensure club growth. For example, "members X, Y, and Z went on a twelve mile trip to the island and back, so aren't we a cool club?" Additionally, as with clubs operated by volunteer effort, trips can serve as training exercises.

Relationships
Unlike commercial or walk-up programs, clubs ongoing relationships. The same people, more or less, show up for any given event. What this means for the club is largely up to the club, but for those in shepherding roles, it's an opportunity for coaching and sharing knowledge. With a formally qualified or not as an instructor, shepherds can give their flocks insight into what they're doing and why, building the strength of the club and widening the base of qualified leadership - a great way to avoid being the only people anyone ever asks to lead a trip!

The flip side to the relationships in clubs is that some paddlers may respond differently to various members. There may be a friendly rivalry, or a grudge about a trip that happened months or years ago, that makes someone not take direction well, or only take direction from certain people in the club. These kinds of issues are more social problem than paddling problem, but it's good to be aware of how they can affect a trip.

For example, I led a trip of a small group of experienced paddlers once on a circumnavigation of Manhattan. Two a history of racing and tended to keep too far ahead of the main group until I talked to them. Another was an skilled but slower paddler who dropped out earlier rather than deal with the forced march pace of the lead paddlers. Another paddler, as new to the group as I, kept steady but shared some of the concerns I had in keeping the group together and making decisions about when to stop and when to move on. We talked about it at the end, but along the way it took a while to figure out how to herd even this small group of cats.

Club Development
Regardless of the purpose of club trips, they all serve to develop the club as an organization. Unlike commercial trips, or walkup programs, there's a good chance that the people who come along on a club trip will come again, and again and again. The paddlers learn not only to be better paddlers, but to work well with one another. This makes for a stronger group, and that is never a bad thing.