Writing Prompt based on "The Wind in the Willows"

 

Assignment from July 31:  Are you someone who, like the Water Rat, enjoys nothing better than “messing about in boats”?  If so, write us a piece about the pleasures or problems you’ve experienced with them.

   Having always been the adventurous type, sometimes to my own detriment, I have often bitten off more than I could chew.  One such case, actually, I did it twice, was a circumnavigation of Manhattan island, 30 miles, 10 hours, in a kayak.  We shoved off one July evening at about 8:00 PM for a nighttime “circumnav.”  There were about 20 of us, six people in individual kayaks, sea kayaks, the kind you sit inside of, and seven tandem, 2 -seater, sit-on-top, very buoyant kayaks.  I was alone in a sit-on-top kayak, with a dry bag filled with an extra shirt, extra water, 2 sandwiches and a power bar or two.  There is a heavy-duty canvas seat clipped into the kayak to give the paddler an opposite force and to support the kayaker’s back and butt.  In order to paddle forward a kayaker needs the canvas seat to provide leverage to the paddle stroke.  Otherwise, the paddler would would move backwards and out of the sit-on-top kayak, and into the drink.

   Leaving the Long Island City Community Boathouse on Anable Basin in Hunter’s Point in Long Island City, we caught the East River’s flood tide north.  The East River is not a true river but a 16-mile tidal strait, affected by Atlantic Ocean tides that flood and ebb twice a day, every day.  The flood cycle is approximately 5 and ½ hours, with a half hour of slack tide, and then 5 and ½ hours of ebb tide, flowing south back into New York Harbor.  Let it be known that it is nearly impossible to paddle a kayak against the full flood or ebb tide.  I recommend that one go down to the river’s edge and watch the boats and ships tryst with the tide.  Ships sailing and motoring with the tide whisk by rather quickly whereas boats powering against the full tide are laboring and wasting fuel.  The ship captain would be wise to time his or her trip up or down river with the assistance of the appropriate tide.

   The LICCB was well-equipped and very safety conscious, as it should be.  Paddlers and rowers on the river are mere specks to the passing DEP tankers, fuel barges, tugboats, party boats, and privately-owned leisure craft.  We were ordered to stay together in a big pack, more visible to the passing ships and boats.  Our leaders would radio in to harbor patrol and to report our location to other vessels.  We paddled up the East Channel of the East River, to the east of Roosevelt Island, under the mighty Queensboro Bridge, past Hallett’s Cove in Astoria, and, after coordinating the plan, to cross the Hell Gate, a treacherous pinch-point of the East River.  The East River, beyond the Hell Gate flows north and east to beyond Throgs Neck in the Bronx to join the Long Island Sound.  Our course, however, was to cross the Hell Gate in to enter the 7.5-mile Harlem River.

   Now it was completely dark.  The night circumnav was happening.  As with any kayak trip, or foot hike, or long drive, one’s vigor is high at the start.  The flood tide took us calmly into the Harlem River where we traveled under the many bridges that connect upper Manhattan with the Borough of the Bronx.  The Triborough (now RFK) lift bridge, the Willis Avenue, Madison Avenue, 145^th Street, Macomb’s Dam, High Bridge, the Alexander Hamilton, 207^th Street, the Broadway, and, finally, the Henry Hudson bridges to get us through Spuyten Duyvil and into the mighty Hudson River.  The Hudson, formerly called North River, is a true river, starting 310 miles to the north in the Adirondack Mountains.  The Hudson is tidal, so it flows south, yet rises and falls vertically with the pulses of the ocean tides. The water moves quickly, about 6-7 knots.  When kayaking on the water, it is very hard to judge your speed unless you note certain landmarks on the shoreline or large structures visible form the water.  We exited the Harlem River and “hung a left” in the Hudson for the tidal ebb to pull us 13 miles down-river. 

   This entire trip was super invigorating and enthralling, as we had as one of our participants, a New York Times reporter named Robin Shuler.  She was in the front of a tandem kayak, not doing very much paddling but asking many questions to the participants, and asking me a number of questions, since I was one of two historians on the trek.  After about three hours of yapping, a trait that I have been “blessed” with, I had asked Robin if she needed any more info.  She said, quite emphatically, “No!”  I think I may have killed her with my exuberant historical tales and facts.    

   We paddled down-river, under the giant and majestic George Washington Bridge.  To give one some perspective, the height of the bridge from water level is 604 feet, the height of a 60-story building.  From tower to tower is 3,500 feet, over a half-mile.  All that finished in 1931.

  We paddled further, the East and Hudson rivers’ tides, currents, and eddies all at the ready to unseat you from your vessel.  Although the kayaker is being taken south by the river, provided by the tide and actual river’s southward flow, the paddler must be very alert to correct their forward motion from becoming turned sideways, or completely turned 180 degrees.  Going backwards in a kayak is very unsettling as one must be able to see an obstacle in order to avoid it.  one particular incident of “On-the-job-training” occurred near the 79^th Street Boat Basin on Manhattan’s west side.  About 200 yards ahead of me, with the dark river below and the dark sky above, I spied a large, round object coming at me.  We were directed to steer to the right, further into the river, to avoid the obstacle.  As we zipped by at 7 knots right by the half-submerged, four feet in diameter, orange ball, I had an important realization.  The Hudson River’s fast-moving tide was carrying us past the orange ball, which was stationary.  It was the outer boundary marker of the boat basin.  The large floating metal orange balls were anchored by cables to the river bed.  They were not moving, I was.  If I had been on a direct line with the “moving” orange ball, I would have struck it and caused myself serious injury.  What astonished me most was that in previous kayak trips, I had never experienced that situation.  One must remember, respect the sea.  It’ll swallow you whole, I can tell you.

   The loose pack of kayakers became quiet as the trek became 5,6,7 hour long.  We had stopped for 5 minutes at a dock on the Harlem River at Sherman Creek, and at the Downtown Boat Basin just north of Battery Park City and Stuyvesant High School.  At that stop, a peculiar thing happened.  As the paddlers, now on a wooden dock were stretching their legs and bodies, using the facilities, and eating something, we knew that the final three hours would be the toughest.  Heck, I was dead already and, I am glad to say, there were others far more dead than I was.  A U.S. Army term I had learned was to “Charlie Mike,” continue mission.  A young couple on the trip, sharing a kayak, were having a serious spat.  I could hear the woman saying, “How much further?  I can’t do this anymore.”  When her and her “boyfriend” heard three more hours, she got super mad and left the group, and her now poorly motivated beau to paddle alone.  The woman left and walked toward the nearest subway station to go home, wherever that was.  She was so sick of kayaking that she elected to take her chances, alone, in downtown Manhattan at 3:00 AM.  Yikes!  A very experienced kayaker, Erik, elected to jump into the back of the lonely fellow’s kayak and to tow the empty kayak, for the next three hours.

   We shoved off from the Downtown boathouse, zipping past the former World Trade Center site (it was 2005), Battery Park City, and towards the Battery.  To our right was Ellis and Liberty islands, with the great statue and her lamp lighting the way to our good and free America.   

   South of the Battery is a spot called, “the Spider,” where the Hudson River, New York Harbor, Buttermilk Channel, and the East River all influence the water, which bounces off the sea walls and can, in many variables of water motion, can unseat one from their boat.  It would have been fun if we weren’t on the water for eight hours!  As we finally entered the East River for our trek northward, the leaders timed it perfectly for us to catch the new flood tide.  Thank God.  I was not into paddling at all yet when one paddles alone in their own kayak, one must drive on.  There was no stopping now.  Being it now a Sunday morning, zero dark thirty, we pressed on.  The group of 19 was now silent.  Everyone was solely focused on getting back to Anable Basin in our fair Long Island City.  As we paddled further, we passed under the majestic Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Williamsburg bridges.  It was so awesome kayaking under these great historic spans, yet my zeal for the moment had waned back in the Hudson River.  As we followed the flood around Corlear’s Hook in lower Manhattan, a strong turn in the river, there I saw it.  Standing alone, a few miles in the distance, in a Long Island City of long ago, was the tall, green Citibank building in Court Square.  A beacon in the night, the word “CITI” atop what was once the tallest building in Queens, and the tallest building between New York and Boston.  Every paddle stroke got us closer.  Williamsburg, Greenpoint, Brooklyn.  Newtown Creek.  Hunter’s Point, Queens.  I can actually see buildings in Queens!  Oh my God!  We paddled silently past the piers at Gantry Plaza State Park, the Pepsi Cola sign, and, dare I say it, Anable Basin.

   We also raced to see who could paddle to the dock first.  I, being not dead and a gentleman, stayed in my kayak as we assisted the beginners onto the dock, and then, it was my turn to exit the restrictive water craft.  I grabbed onto the dock and essentially flung myself from the kayak onto the dock, like a super fat walrus.  I was so, so happy to be on the wooden dock, terra firma.  We all pulled the boats onto the dock, up the boat ramp, and helped each other carry the kayaks back to the boathouse, one block away.  The group, slightly less silent, hosed down the canvas seats, paddles, and the personal floatation devices (PDFs).  Salt water can erode equipment.

   The leaders closed with two minutes of info and upcoming paddles, which nobody cared about.  I want to go home.  It was now 6:30 AM.  Ten hours on the freakin’ water.  My back is tight, my muscles want to atrophy, where do I get a taxi at this hour?  My 45-year-old frame was wracked with fatigue.  I just wanna go home.  Put a fork in me, I am done.

   The next week, I appeared in the New York Times article, quoted and photographed, and that was the greatest reward for all of my efforts.

 

Richard Melnick

Astoria, NY.  8-14-2021.