The Hudson River Watertrail Association

Manhattan Circumnavigation,

August 25, 2002

By Erik Baard, with contributions from Aliye Bill, Jeff Hoyer, Gerald Blackstone

One the weekend of August 24th and 25th two waves of kayakers circumnavigated Manhattan. While we in the Sunday party missed out on the great company of people like Bob Huszar and Jack Gillman, it was a fun trip with a fine mix of characters.

I woke at 3AM because I had some running around to do in order to make an 830 launch at Pier 40. I knew it would be a sun block day the moment I stepped out into the 430 AM darkness - the sky was so clear that I could see an unusually full field of stars showing brilliantly despite a nearly full moon. I spent a moment hunting for Delta Scorpii, a giant that began flaring up unexpectedly about a year and a half ago, but with a kayak on my back, subways to catch, and things to do, I skedaddled.

I got to Pier 40 at about 7AM and assembled my Kahuna smoothly. (Ralph, take note: No duct tape!) Melissa Longhi arrived a little bit later with her K-Light. Robert Roberg came early to, though he was using a hardshell Dagger kayak. A pleasant surprise came in the form of Gerry Blackstone from Yonkers arriving by car with his boat. Robert’s friend, Joseph, came at about 8:30 due to subway problems (a weekend hazard I know all too well). As a result we ran a little late in launching, but we’d budgeted ample time for glitches.

The water was glassy, the air was still, and the sky was bright. After a day of a false-start autumn, summer returned in blazing glory. We paddled south at a comfortable rate, looking out for Jeff Hoyer who was waiting in the Downtown Boathouse embayment in his red Kahuna. Another surprise: Steven Sanford, with whom I’ve enjoyed a circumnavigated before, was also there in his yellow K-Light. (Fun side note: Steve is an illustrator who just happens to be a direct descendent of Charles Willson Peale, famed for painting portraits of George Washington)

(http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/view1.asp?dep=2&full=0&item=97%2E33 and

http://www.artcyclopedia.com/artists/peale_charles_willson.html).

That kind of historical echo just tickles me! But at least Steve escaped the legacy of C.W. Peale’s penchant for giving his offspring grandiose art names like Titian. Rembrandt, and Raphaelle! (Errr, no offense to the estimable Ralph Diaz.) Then again, I was with an SVA grad named Longhi, a name that seems to pop up with some regularity in Italian art over the centuries! Will some future generation study the Brooklyn Longhi? Cool.

Steve said that Harry’s group was almost ready to depart, with just a few people left on the dock. I was impressed at how well Harry had coordinated that with the public trip, which also hits the water between 830 and 9 o’clock. Melissa had told me of Harry’s plans, and I’d mentioned them to the NYCKayaker email list group, but I’d never communicated with Harry about it and assumed we’d be heading out separately. Robert and I are used to taking longer trips as a duo or in very small groups, but Harry’s merry band was almost underway and all of us were subject to the same tides. It made sense to merge. Besides, I always enjoy paddling with Harry, who was very patient with me and encouraging when I was a newbie. Robert and Joseph, however, were a little more determined to press on despite my request to hold up for a few minutes. I tried to paddle slowly to somehow bridge the two parties, but instead managed to annoy both, with one friend thinking I was forcing a change of plans upon him, and another group of friends thinking that I was rudely shooting ahead. In fairness to Robert, he expected to be going out for a casual paddle with three other people. He wasn’t expecting any of the responsibilities that come with being part of a larger, semi-official organized effort.

When Harry caught up, he expressed his displeasure in a very amicable but direct way. “Erik, I was a little surprised that you didn’t wait for us back there,” he said as we neared the World Financial Center. Harry was taking out a group of several paddlers who’d never made the trip before (but who all proved quite capable by day’s end!) and I believe he understandably expected

a little friendly help from the Pier 40 contingent. I explained my little pickle to Harry and he was very mellow about it. The uber-group (forgive my spelling if I screw up) now numbered 12, with Nancy Brous, Caroline Michael, Aliza Weidenbaum, and Aliye Bill.

A Waterways ferry very courteously arced widely and slowly around us in his approach to the little polyp-like terminal by the North Cove. I was truly impressed at the generosity of the captain. It’s worth complimenting to management.

By the time we’d reached Pier A, shy of the post 9-11 Waterways ferry mega-terminal, we’d gathered up into one group. We lucked out on timing - the Circle Line boats were arriving and departing well ahead and the Staten Island Ferry was launching and would be clear before we rounded the Battery and its environs. No Waterways ferries arrived.

The East River was a conveyer belt with a very light headwind to cool us down. A wake or two kept us alert, but the chop was minimal. We paddled at an easy rate, but still made great time going up. I was getting used to my new paddle, a broader power faced Aquabound Seafarer, an upgrade from my trusty old Tripper by the same company. I admired Harry’s new handmade skin and frame boat for the longest I’d seen it on the water. He later remarked that though it has an only 21″ beam and 18* wide waterline, it feels stable. But asked if it was his new favorite boat, he answered simply, “I don’t know yet.” Would the day provide varied enough conditions to find out? But back to the East River&

I took a couple of quick group photos, but a tug was heading south and while it was clearly going to pass us at a comfortable distance, a few of my models were eager to disband and tuck closer to shore. One happy thought. Well, maybe not happy, but healthy in some sense. The World Trade Center atrocities were only on the periphery of my mind - for example, it occurred to me in seeing the new Waterways barge pier, put in place to replace the damaged New Jersey PATH. But when I took the group photo I realized I’d taken a similar shot two or three years ago of Robert, Steve, and Phil as we circumnavigated, with the towers soaring behind the Brooklyn Bridge. On Sunday I noted their absence, but thought, “Wow, it’s still New York. It’s still majestic, isn’t it?”

I took a few other candid shots throughout the day. Robert and Joseph stopped to take photos too, and to take that chance to slip away for some more private paddling.

I usually like to let the East River run itself out a little before I hit Hell Gate. The less current in a headwind, the less chop generally. It cuts down on the swirling of waters at that confluence of channels too. In Sunday’s case, I figured an additional 40 minutes would reduce a nearly 3.3

knot twister down to 2 knots. Harry wanted to take full advantage of current and made the stronger case. We zoomed up without pausing, apart from scoping out the area around the Con Ed plant near 14th street for list member Beau, who took photos of us from shore, and to wave to Steve’s family in his Waterside Plaza apartment building a short stretch further north.

South of the United Nations we cut out into the river to avoid the security zone. I’d suggested, and Harry concurred, that we cling to the Manhattan side of the western channel as we passed Roosevelt Island because of the chop that greets paddlers when they get north of the Blackwell Lighthouse. It’s also a good way to avoid barge and ferry traffic that crosses from the western channel to the real Hell Gate (between Randall/Wards Island and Queens - our excursion Sunday would only take us to Hell Gate’s outermost fringe) on their way to the Long Island Sound. I felt those advantages outweighed my concerns that wakes can pile up mightily on the wall and that faster channel makes rescues much harder. Steve and I hung back for that reason - not only could we see if anyone went over, but also wouldn’t have to buck current to get to them. We got a few wakes that turns from swells to breakers near to shore where we were, but nothing out of the ordinary. Aliye, who intrepidly conquered very rough surf on her way to Red Hook during the Governors Island flotilla and then attempted to paddle back, surprised me with the declaration, “I hate, hate, hate wakes!”

Aliye adds, “I think I made many more gutteral noises and ululations over the wake&ricochetting off the solid walls and making X X patterns to bounce the bejesus out of you. [They] make NJFerry wakes in the Hudson look much, much, much nicer now.”

Melissa gamely said they were “part of the fun.” Robert and Joseph held to the Roosevelt Island side but apparently reconsidered when they saw the white caps bouncing up by the Blackwell Light - when we saw them again, they’d crossed over to Manhattan south of Hell Gate.

Then came our first little miracle. A swimmer was also circumnavigating. She seemed to have two or three motorboat escorts, one of which was announcing to approaching vessels that they had to slow down. Although we were crossing the sleepy suburbs of Hell Gate in good weather, not having any big wakes churning up rip tides and small vortices helped relieve a lot of stress with such a mixed and large group. I’ve never had it so good apart from doing swim escorts.

Harry and I knew from Bob Huszar that Mill Rock’s cove would be flooded, with no available beach, but wanted to swing by and look anyway for the sake of making everyone familiar with the place. Water in that northern East River segment was exceedingly calm and traffic was nonexistent for the moment, apart from the swimmer’s crew. We paddled at the southern end, knowing currents would ferry us to the northern opening. Harry and I arrived first, unfortunately startling some juvenile seagulls. The fledglings couldn’t manage liftoff, but swam right back to shore as we passed without harassing them. I was particularly thrilled, imagining that the one closest to us might have been an egg I’d seen on previous trips to the island!

Gerry said he was in “heaven” in the little, intimate space of Mill Rock Cove. I always love how removed from the crazy city I feel on Mill Rock, enjoying the change of perspective - the same turbulent waters that I’d braved with an amount of trepidation minutes before (I often cross from my home in Queens), now guarding my rest from the disturbance of other visitors.

We made a short crossing to Randalls Island, landing on what I imagine was the same tiny beach our friends had used Saturday. We hoisted our kayaks up onto a rocky ridge. When one or two lower down were threatened by wakes, Steve and others raised them again. I casually remarked about how precisely on schedule we were, but that this schedule seemed to put us near midtown’s Pier 92-96 at about the time when cruise ships berthed there would be pulling out. It’s something that I’d thought about Saturday night.

We ate in the shade, sitting on grass and benches. Caroline kindly shared her trail mix while Melissa had a little less success distributing her pecan tarts. Randalls Island is a wonderful but underused New York City resource, but on Sunday it was host to another soccer match, a weekend ritual that plays a huge role in the Latin American community.

We caught a very nice current going up the Harlem River, with people greeting us from the small bridges that span that largely overlooked third coast of Manhattan. Melissa reports that she and Nancy both got amusingly caught up in strange eddies like Emile did on Saturday. I looked for the needle of the Highbridge Tower (a former water storage facility that was part of the aqueduct system - http://www.davebeckerman.com/1636/intro.html) as my psychological halfway point - currents and actual distance play only a partial role in that subjective calculation.

New water access points were germinating along both sides of the river, ranging from simple ramps and new buildings with small beaches where marshland was being reseeded. I always get a small pleasure in appreciating the novelty of seeing the island’s last remaining natural marshes. I also made sure to look out for progress at the end of 208th street in Swindler Cove, where the New York Restoration Project, with backing from Bette Midler, is putting in a rowing boathouse: http://www.nyrp.org/boathouse.htm.

The Harlem River banks are positively lush by the time you near Inwood, a wonderful reward for slogging it through long, dreary stretches where the Borax Paper Products factory counts as a landmark.

We pulled into the waters spread before Columbia University’s dock, but only one person got out there. This was not only a matter of need, but of pure intimidation - who could match Nancy’s stylish landing, albeit a landing that occurred as she tried to launch herself? A wavelet rolled in and gently popped Nancy right onto the dock, sideways! As Jeff describes it, “It was a beam seal landing…none of this sissy bow first business. This must rate at least BCU-7.” Chalk one up to the Spuyten Duyvil spirits! 

As we passed the bucolic sylvan northern tip of Manhattan (such a contrast with the busy Battery!) we saw fishermen lazily casting into pure sunshine. Of course, in moments just past this point, that sunshine would start blinding me! Melissa was also feeling the sun a bit, and was fatigued. We paddled through the enjoyably squirrely Spuyten Duyvil waters where the Harlem and Hudson meet and already felt the gentle tug of an ebb tide.

As Jeff recalls, “One of the most beautiful moments was our entrance into the grandeur of the upper Hudson after the narrow Harlem River passage. I was overwhelmed by the breathtakingly sudden expansiveness and heard several exclamations from my companions.”

Gerry recommended that we make a pit stop at the Dyckman marina and so we did. Most boaters landed on the little beach on the north side of the restaurant there, but hearing the familiar tinkle of the beach (it’s covered with glass) and fearing for my folding kayak, I opted to land on the dock or ramp on the south side. Jeff later discovered a slice in his Feathercraft hull, and suspects that glittery beach. 

Melissa and Aliza joined me. Before I left, I mentioned again that we were headed for an encounter with the cruise ships unless we held back a bit more than most people planned.

I don’t usually like stopping at Dyckman, but rather cruise ahead to the 79th Street Boat Basin or zip across to Mitsuwa, but this was a fun little diversion. While getting Aliza’s boat up I stashed her paddle inside. Naturally it slipped right out when I pulled up the bow, not factoring in that Aliza wasn’t going to be a symmetrical match for me at the stern! Well, I fished her paddle back with Melissa’s only to see Aliza’s boat now slip away. I was ready to hop into my boat to retrieve it but Aliza suggested that she swim after it. Okay, more like her mouth suggested it and her eyes PLEADED for it. And so she took her swim.

With all three boats were on the dock, I stayed to baby sit them from a plastic table and chair set under a shade tree. The dockmaster came by and asked if I’d come in on a dinghy. I said no, a kayak. He replied, “Oh, okay. Then no problem. You have every right to be here.” I wasn’t expecting that broad welcome, but thanked him a zillion times.

I returned to me place in the shade with Melissa who shared my joy in discovering that next to our chairs were loose chickens! The quiet birds, which grew bolder in approaching us as we sat there, were resting on a blue tarp sheltered under a boat trailer. Aliza offered them a prune but they chickens weren’t into it. Oh well.

Robert and Joseph left as the others settled in and I called the two over to the dock as they kayaked away. I was eager to rejoin with my friend for a lazy float home with the current, as is our habit. I love seeing the length of the Manhattan skyline roll by like a spooled stage prop or old-fashioned movie effect, imagining I remain stationary. I asked Robert to wait ten minutes but he looked pained in agreeing to that, seeing that Joseph was waving goodbye and paddling away without hesitation. I saw that now I was putting him in the spot I’d been in before - caught between paddling parties. Melissa saw this too and encouraged Robert to head out with his friend.

We drank a few cold nonalcoholic drinks and I fueled Aliza up on a little raisin bread and we were off. Before we returned to the water Harry was leading his larger cluster of boats past. I quickly helped my companions launch and caught up with the group.

As we pressed on, Melissa recalled fondly my promise that one can simply drift much of the way home once on the Hudson. Very fondly. Since I was already convinced that drifting was a smart idea in light of the cruise ship schedule, I promised her that we’d start a long stretch of chatty inaction, letting the river do the work, when we got to about 79th street. By that point I too had problems with my new contact lenses anyway and had to remove the left one. (My eyes were too painful to sleep that night, and remained red for several days. I have since gotten lasik surgery and I’m thrilled.)

At this point Gerry and Steve were nice enough to hang back with Melissa and I, and Aliza who embraced the more casual pace. We chatted and swapped stories - Gerry told us of his relative who was among the very few Jewish ferry operators in New York a few generations ago, with a service running from Yonkers that was made obsolete by the George Washington and Tappen Zee bridges. Somehow we got onto the subject of bootlegged CDs and Gerry told us about how he and friends reel-to-reel videotaped a 1971 performance of Bette Midler singing with Barry Manilow on piano, soon to be on DVD. Midler has a long history of loving water. These days she’s a champion of the rehabilitation of the Harlem River. Gerry reminisced that back then, she often performed in the Continental Baths in the basement of the Ansonia Hotel. Gerry writes, “It was the only job she could get! Johnny Carson would intoduce her on his late night show as ‘the lady straight from the tubs.’ Before AIDS the baths were a social center in NYC for gay people.” 

Steve swung the other way, with an anecdote about a pop singer known only to 13 year olds. His wife and daughter managed to sneak onto a party boat where a Jessica Simpson video was being shot, and then even crashed the private party that followed! Okay, I have no idea of who Jessica Simpson is either. 

We pretty much did nothing but dip our paddles in to steer for a few miles, watching the three scheduled cruise ships pull out well ahead, visible first by their black plumes. By the time we got to the berths the colossi were gone. But it turns out there was a fourth ship, which is unusual. The kayaks up ahead had to tuck into the security zone to avoid trouble.

Jeff fills us in on the forward kayaks’ experience:

I just wanted to add a little detail to the front group’s encounter with cruise ship number 4. (First bowing to Erik’s “I told you so,” as we were forewarned that pressing ahead would put us in this position. ) As we were flying down the Hudson, we counted the departing cruise ships. After the third departure we paused slightly north of 57th St. There was debate among the five of us as to whether to wait or try to slip by before the fourth departure. This was most likely our downfall as the ebb was pressing us rapidly ahead even as we spoke. Finally, we decided to give it a try. Of course, as soon as we were abreast of the ship’s stern, we heard the horn and realized our predicament. There was a flurry of reverse paddling and sweeping as we took refuge in an embayment adjacent to the departing ship. That little 200-foot course reversal took more energy than had the last 10-miles! As we sat there contemplating the immensity of this vessel, we were greeted by yells from the early-imbibers on the deck above. Harry, being I suspect ahead as soon as the bow of the cruise ship began to turn down-stream. The rest of us paused a moment longer to make certain we wouldn’t run afoul of any belated forward movement or bow-thruster turbulence. Through it all, however, while remaining in awe of the gargantuam forces surrounding us, we remained calm. The captain of a tugboat approaching our refuge was even kind enough to give me a chance to get out of the way with a courteous wave. I remember looking at the pilings underneath the pier and thinking how easy it would be to get into serious trouble if we had been a little weaker and less-skilled. After this incident, the rest of the journey was much easier than I expected. I had some aches and pains yesterday, but nothing out of the ordinary for a day’s exercise (and doddering middle-age). 

I remember one morning, at about 6AM, a few years back crossing from Liberty Island to Red Hook as the ships were arriving. Robert and I were impatient and decided to get across the path of the third ship by scooting quickly behind the second. We completely underestimated the phenomenon of water displacement and after surfing the ship’s bow, we found ourselves slipping rapidly - literally sucked - in towards the second ship. As people aboard sweetly waved to us we were racing against our will straight at them! We survived, laughed, and learned.

Continuing down the Hudson, we had the joy to encounter Bonnie Aldinger and her friend, who had paddled out of Pier 63 for a sprint. We soon encountered six ferries in five minutes arriving at the Waterways station in north Chelsea! It was insane, but again the captains were courteous! I didn’t have my radio, so when I saw one ferry slowing and seeming unsure of what to do, I extended my arms theatrically, and made quite a show of folding them across my chest, as Ralph has advised on the HRWA’s nyckayaker list group. Ralph, in turn, credits Bill Lozano with that approach, a way of demonstrating “that you have turned off your engine.”

The captain then gunned his engines slightly and pulled directly into his pier. He didn’t hit us with any wake, so were able to turn out further into the river. Everybody won.

Another Spirit yacht pulled into the embayment south of Pier 63, startling us, but again it was done in a way that caused no trouble.

We rafted up, five of us, and drifted in the sunset and relaxed conversation. Gerry remembers that, “We were having a great time and were not in a hurry for the wonderful day and trip to end…From some great dreams you do not want to wake!”

Our final highlight was paddling under Pier 40, in from the north side, deep into it and across to the south side. Robert and I have mapped the place out (there are blockages and hanging ropes and such) so I’m comfortable down there, though I was feeling a bit like a delinquent. The others loved the spelunking feel of the dank space too, and the cathedral-like lighting toward the pier head at sunset, with golden light cut to ribbons by rows and rows of pilings. Or, as Gerry jokes, “Your cathedral, my future gay cruising area.”

When we came out, we saw Robert and Joseph on the pier and waved to them, but continued on to the Downtown Boathouse where we met up with most of the day’s participants. It was great seeing Jed, who was beloved by Harry’s group for bringing cinnamon swirls for breakfast that morning. Caroline even pitched in to assist Jed’s sunset paddle to New Jersey.

I took out my other lens, said my fond farewells and went with Aliza and Melissa to Burritoville for a vegan sloppy Joe. 

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