In 1903 the steamboat Mary Powell was making her way south to New York City when an incident occurred of such importance, it made the news in two separate newspapers. On July 10, 1903 the New York Tribune reported the incident, as did the Kingston Daily Freeman.

MARY POWELL RUNS DOWN SNAKE. Twelve Foot Python Was Headed for Albany – The Mate Justified.
 
The mate of the Hudson River steamer Mary Powell had hard work convincing Captain A. E. Anderson that he was sane when we reported at 11 a.m. yesterday that he had sighted a twelve foot snake off the port bow and apparently heading for Albany. Later the body of a large snake drifted into the slip alongside the boat, and the mate was able to point it out to the captain with the remark: “I told you so.”

The Mary Powell was just finishing her morning trip from Kingston with a goodly number of passengers when the mate, William B. Maines, ran up to Captain Anderson in the Pilot House.

“Snake off the port bow,” he reported.

“What’s the matter, mate?” said the captain, “I hope you see no pink monkeys.”

“It’s a snake, and a big one, too,” replied the mate.

Captain Anderson looked, and, sure enough, bobbing up and down in the water, was a snake, evidently a python. A moment later the boat ran the snake down and passed into her berth. Later, when the snake drifted in, it was an object of much interest, and during the day everybody having business near the Debrosses St. pier who heard about it went down to see the snake.
 
- New-York Tribune, July 10, 1903

SNAKE ON THE PORT BOW. "DON'T YOU MEAN AN ICEBERG?" SAID CAPT. ANDERSON.

The Hudson river steamboat, Mary Powell, from Kingston-on-the-Hudson, was making port at the foot of Desbrosses street yesterday morning, says the New York Sun, when the first mate, William B. Maines, approached Captain Anderson in the pilot house, and, after saluting, said:

 "Sir, I have to report that there is a large snake on our port bow."  

The captain gave the wheel a half turn and there was silence for nearly a minute. Then the mate repeated his report.  

Again a half turn of the wheel and a deep silence.  The mate then said it louder.  

"You mean an iceberg, don't you, Mr. Maines," said the captain politely.  "It is hot, isn't it?"  

The mate assured the captain that the hot weather had nothing to do with it and that his brain was working all right.  A moment later the Mary Powell ran her nose into the bobbing corpse of a twelve-foot python and shoved it toward the pier.  

Quite a crowd gathered to see the snake's body during the afternoon.

​- Kingston Daily Freeman, July 10, 1903

Pythons are not native to the Hudson River Valley, so Captain Anderson was right to be skeptical, but it sounds like Maines was, indeed, justified. Hard to argue with physical proof. In all likelihood, the snake was either an escaped or abandoned pet. 

Have you seen any odd creatures in the Hudson River? Comment with your sighting stories!

​​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!

"On the River" was a public television project of WTZA-TV, Hudson Valley Television, Kingston, New York. Running from 1986/87-1993, all episodes of this series are now held in the Marist College Archives as part of their Environmental History collection. This episode is shared with permission by the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

"Logbook 36" follows Port Ewen shad fisherman Frank Parslow as he discusses Hudson River fishing, goes out on the river and actually does some shad fishing with his nephew George Mick, who comes up from South Carolina just to go shad fishing. After the come back to shore, Frank discusses how he cleans, brines, and smokes the shad.

We'll be sharing many of the river-related "Logbooks" from "On the River" over the next several Saturdays, so stay tuned!

Frank Parslow was a member of the Hudson River Fisherman's Association and had a hand in the prosecution of Exxon Mobile for stealing Hudson River Water. If you want the whole story, you can visit our online exhibit, Rescuing the River. 

Frank was also one of many Hudson River commercial fishermen who were interviewed over the years and his oral history is one of dozens that reside at the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

You can listen to more of Frank's wonderful stories online at New York Heritage, where many interviews from HRMM's oral history collection are housed. 

If you'd like to see more videos from the Hudson River Maritime Museum, visit our YouTube Channel. For more "On the River" episodes, check out our YouTube playlist just for this show.

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

​The tide began to recede at 3:00 AM and is way out at, leaving several hundred feet of mud flats between us and the river. We were hoping to start early, but it was looking unlikely that we could launch the canoe before the tide began coming in. The skies were overcast.
 
Steve, our ad hoc spiritual leader, slept peacefully under the sky, untroubled by the logistics of launching the Bear or the difficulties of wind and tide that lay ahead. Steve had a distinguished and principled career as a judicial watchdog until his organization became politicized. He began a second career as a social justice attorney representing the disadvantaged. He met his wife in the Peace Corps and his children have followed his lifelong example of selflessness. Years earlier, Steve introduced long canoe trips to a local youth organization as a volunteer and got to know the Hudson River better than many river pilots. He was always supremely confident that the Lord would look after those traveling on the river for adventure and renewal. He was so relaxed and confident this morning that we had to wake him up.

​I prepared a sketch of the Manhattan skyline in my journal with drunken pilings and crooked dock supports in the foreground. At 7:00, we fixed instant coffee and apple-cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast. We broke camp and created a protective launch ramp for the Bear by arranging logs and old tires between dry ground and the water. Once afloat, we packed the Bear with our gear and finally the crew. The last member to come aboard (that would be me) would need to wade through the ooze some distance so that the stern would float free.  No one wanted to dwell on what was in that ooze. The smell said it all.
 
We covered a mile north in our first half hour before the northwest wind came up again.  We paddled in the lee of several piers in order to escape the brunt of the wind. We met a crab fisherman near the Crab House Restaurant and he was incredulous that we were paddling to Albany. We passed alongside the abandoned 1905 double-ended DL&W steam ferry Binghamton, the tugboats Kerry K. and Brooklyn and we made rest stops at two Edgewater marinas. The water at the second marina stunk but we were desperate at that point and drank it holding our noses.
 
We rallied for a final push toward the George Washington Bridge. As we approached the bridge, the wind and waves intensified, making it difficult to keep the bow from falling off course. Dan worked his heart out up in front, clawing his paddle left and right as needed while the rest of us powered forward. As we passed the tall Gothic tower of Riverside Chapel, Steve told us that his grandfather served as its pastor for some years. We passed Grant’s Tomb and as we approached the bridge, the wind and waves seemed to be funneled into a threatening maelstrom. We had no choice but to continue; turning would have resulted in broaching and capsizing at this point. We passed beneath the bridge at 10:30 against terrible waves. The wind was now 25 mph. The west shore here is reinforced by a continuous stone bulkhead with no place to land. Steve again reminded us that the Lord would provide. Immediately after affirming this, a break in the bulkhead appeared, revealing a sandy beach just long enough to contain our canoe. We dove in, grateful to get off the river with all of our gear intact. It was 11:00 AM. We found a clearing here and made the decision to stay off the river until conditions improved. We named this place “Beneficent Beach.”

​The wind never stopped and the skies threatened well into the afternoon. The tide rose and we had to move some logs and adjust our lines to keep the canoe safe. We met a few people who were interested in our journey and happy to tell us about the Palisades and local history. We were told that the bad weather and erratic tides were part of the circulation associated with hurricane Dennis. Joe set up a fly to protect our gear in the event of rain and it gradually dawned on all of us that we were not going to be able to go anywhere for the remainder of the day. We discreetly set up our tents in a cluster next to the fly and spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring. Steve and Dan hiked to the top of the massive cliffs. I prepared a sketch of the George Washington Bridge.

​We began dinner at 6:00 by using our most perishable foods first. We served an appetizer of tomatoes and cheddar cheese and a main course of macaroni and cheese mixed with hot dogs and what remained of our cream cheese. We garnished our plates with dill pickles. After cleaning up, we replenished our fresh water at a nearby park pavilion and returned to tell campfire stories about extreme adventures, spiritual mysteries and cheating death. All of our stories were sprinkled with complaints about our sore arms and rear ends. The tide was going out and the Bear was safe for the time being. The wind remained wild, but the rain didn’t materialize.
 
At 9:30, we put extra lines on our tents and the camp fly, established an anchor watch and turned-in for the evening. The wind moderated somewhat and a few skunks visited. High tide came at 1:00 AM. Steve and I took turns keeping an eye on the canoe which was jostled around a little bit but safe. After an hour or so, she settled on the sand and we went back to sleep. The moderating wind gave us a little hope for smoother progress in the upcoming day.

The trip will continue next Friday!

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

​Twenty-seven years ago, the remains of two Hudson River schooners were identified at a remote dock where they were abandoned in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.  Historic photographs of the schooners from 1914 and 1918 were located offering detailed information about their layout and rig.  The New York State Division for Historic Preservation and Grossman and Associates Archaeology digitally recorded the more intact of the two hull bottoms producing photographs and a plan drawing.  An article describing this project and summarizing the historic context of Hudson River sloops and schooners appeared in Sea History No. 77, Spring, 1996.
 
The Hudson River was New York’s “Main Street” for at least 200 years and sloops and schooners were the principle vehicles of its commerce.  Even after the Age of Steam dawned in 1807, these boats continued to evolve and improve through the introduction of centerboards, greater carrying capacity and changes in working equipment.  The last generation of these boats soldiered on until the end of the nineteenth century carrying bulk freights such as iron ore, sand and bricks.  Their graceful movements and white sails were often captured by the artists of the Hudson River School and nostalgia for these quiet, powerful and non-polluting boats led to the construction of the Clearwater, a modified replica of a mid-nineteenth century example, launched in 1969.  
 
Since this effort, more has been learned about the Hudson’s sloops and schooners.  Intact examples with preserved decks, bowsprits, and in some cases deck cargos have been discovered well below the river’s surface through remote sensing technologies and diver surveys.  Nevertheless, the schooners studied in 1993 revealed important details about the framing and configuration of these regionally significant boats not available in the sparse written record.  We observed that the centerboards were placed on one or the other side of the keel so as not to weaken the backbone of these boats.  To counteract the added weight on one side, we found that the mainmast of one was stepped off center on the opposite side.  We also found evidence in the more intact hull of added frames and riders used ostensibly to reinforce an aging hull for continuing service.  There was some evidence to suggest that the more intact hull was built as a single-masted sloop and later re-rigged with two masts as a schooner at a time when this was done to reduce crews in the face of rising labor costs.
 
Carla Lesh, Collections Manager and Digital Archivist of the Hudson River Maritime Museum and I visited the site at low tide several days ago.  Ice and debris have demolished the more lightly framed of the two schooners but the one that was carefully recorded thankfully remains much as it did in 1993.  The site is located on public land and protected under state and federal statute.  Should you encounter this or other historic wreck sites, please refrain from disturbing them in any way.  They are important touchstones of our maritime heritage and can still answer questions about our past that cannot be answered in the written record.

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteers. For more of Captain Benson’s articles, see the “Captain Benson Articles” category.​
This article was originally published in Tempo on June 25, 1972.

During the early 1920's, when I was a boy growing up in Sleightsburgh, church services used to be held every Sunday afternoon at the little Sleightsburgh chapel on First Street.
​
The Rev. Mr. Anthony of Rondout would conduct the service and be assisted by Mr. Arthur S. Flemming, who later became the president of Ohio Wesleyan University and Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare in President Dwight Eisenhower’s cabinet.  Mr. Flemming at that time had graduated from Kingston High School, but he had graduated so young that his father, Judge Harry Flemming, thought he should wait a year before going on to college.  During that period, he used to assist Rev. Anthony almost every Sunday, being very active in church work.  

On a quiet Sunday afternoon, the bell in the belfry of the chapel would toll shortly before the service was to begin at 3 p.m.  My mother would take my sisters and me with her to the service. ​

Three Long Blasts
At 3:25 p.m., the steamer “Poughkeepsie” of the Central Hudson Line would blow three long blasts on her whistle, announcing her impending departure at 3:30 p.m. from Rondout for New York.  Almost always, Rev. Anthony would be giving his sermon at that time.  When the "Poughkeepsie" would blow her whistle, Rev. Anthony's sermon would come to a dead stop. 

How that whistle would echo through the hills surrounding the Creek!  Especially on one of these hot, lazy summer Sunday afternoons when the windows would be open.  The "Poughkeepsie” would blow … and I'm afraid I would lose all interest in the sermon.  At that time, how I wished I were the lookout on the “Poughkeepsie” and could be aboard her as she started out the creek. 

It is my understanding that much the same thing used to take place at Malden during the late 1930's and 1940's.  At that time, Ellsworth Sniffen of Malden was a pilot on the “Alexander Hamilton’’ of the Hudson River Day Line.  As was the custom on steamboats, most captains and pilots would blow a three blast salute on the whistle to their families as their steamer passed their home ... a steamboatman’s way of saying “hello.”

During the 1930's and ‘40’s, the “Alexander Hamilton” almost always was the up boat to Albany on Saturdays.  This, of course, would mean she would be the down boat on Sunday.  The schedule at that time called for the down boat to leave Catskill at 11:40 a.m. and Kingston Point at 1 p.m.  This would put her past Malden at about 12:15 noon. 

A Momentary Halt.
As the “Hamilton” would come down along the west shore of the River off Malden, Pilot Sniffen would blow the customary three blast salute on the whistle.  Services would be in progress in the church of the hill.  As the “Alexander Hamilton" blew lustily, there would be a momentary halt while the pleasant whistle echoed through the valley. 

Now the steamboat whistles are all gone.  So are many of the churches, such as the little chapel at Sleightsburgh. 

Progress is wonderful, but in its fast-paced course forward so many things of yesteryear are lost in the wake — like the sound of a steamboat whistle on a summer Sunday afternoon.

 
If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!

On Tuesdays the Hudson River Maritime Museum will share interesting images from its collection. We hope you enjoy these brief forays into the past!

Kingston Point Park was built as a steamboat landing, amusement park, and gardens in the 1890s. Featuring a trolley station and Ulster & Delaware Railroad Station nearby, Kingston Point Park served as a central hub for tourists and travelers to come to Kingston in the early 20th century. 

For decades the Hudson River Day Line had docked primarily at Rhinecliff, and visitors to Kingston had to use the ferry to cross the river. But Samuel Coykendall, president of the Thomas Cornell Steamboat Company, saw the potential of Kingston Point. Coykendall was also involved in the Ulster & Delaware Railroad, and many passengers were coming to Kingston to go to the Catksill Mountain Houses, so taking the railroad to their final destination was obvious. 

Opened in 1896, the landing was soon populated with a hotel, amusement park rides (like the above merry-go-round carousel), boat rentals, bandstand, and more. But by 1928, nothing was left. The short-lived landing has left hundreds of postcards and photographs evoking the romance of the heyday of steamboat tourism in the Hudson River Valley.

In 1976, the year of the Bicentennial, folksinger Pete Seeger and songwriter Ed Reneham released the album Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay. Designed as a fundraiser for the Hudson River Sloop Restoration, Inc. group, which would later becomes Clearwater, the album featured a number of traditional and original songs about the history of the Hudson River and other New York waterways. Recorded in Woodstock that summer and released in October, 1976, the album features Pete Seeger and Ed Reneham. 

This particular song, "Hudson River Steamboat" has a murky history, but appears to be a traditional tune. In the liner notes for Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay, William Gecke, lyricst for five of the original songs, wrote that "Hudson River Steamboat" was performed "as learned from John and Lucy Allison." 

"Hudson River Steamboat" Lyrics

Hudson River steamboat, Steamin’ up and down.
New York to Albany Or any river town.
Choo-choo to go ahead, Choo-choo to back ‘er.
Captain and the first mate, They both chew tobacker.

Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.
Choo-choo to Tarrytown, Spuyten Duyvil all around.
Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er

Shad boat, pickle boat, lyin’ side by side.
Fisherfolk and sailormen waitin’ for the tide.
Raincloud, stormcloud over yonder hill.
Thunder on the Dunderberg the rumble’s in the kill.

Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.
Choo-choo to Tarrytown, Spuyten Duyvil all around.
Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er.

The Sedgwick was racin’, and she lost all hope.
Used up her steam on the big calliope.
She was hoppin’ right along, she was hoppin’ quick,
All the way from Stony Point to Popalopen Creek.

Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.
New York to Albany, Rondout and Tivoli.
Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er.

​Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.

The General Sedgwick was a steamboat built in Jersey City in 1862 and was one of the last to be equipped with a steam calliope. If you have heard the organ-like music on an old-fashioned steam-powered carousel, you have an idea of what a steam calliope sounds like, but you can also listen to one here. 

Few calliopes were installed on Hudson River steamboats for one primary reason - sometimes they took all the steam! So the lyric, "The Sedgwick was racin’, and she lost all hope. Used up her steam on the big calliope," is a reference to using too much steam to make music, leaving too little to propel the engines. Calliope music could be heard for miles and although it must have been quite loud aboard, the sound was nonetheless much-beloved by New Yorkers. 

In the 1880s, the Sedgwick was renamed the "Bay Queen" and by the early 1900s was lying in wreck at Ward's Point, Staten Island.

If you'd like to hear a steamboat with a steam calliope in person, you can visit Lake George and take a ride aboard the Minnehaha, or listen to this great video of the Minne playing her calliope in a duet with its echo!

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!

Editor's Note: This article from the July 20, 1767 issue of the New York Mercury newspaper gives an indication of what it was like to stock up on supplies when sloops sailed on the Hudson River in the 1760s. 

The Subscriber, a Boatman, who trades from Westchester to New-York, once or Twice a Week, having for some time past been employ’d by severals, to buy and sell country produce, has it in his power to supply, and bring to New-York, for all such as shall employ him, (on a short notice, for shipping or home use, any sort of country produce, according to the season of the year, as sheep, hogs, all kinds of poultry, butter, cheese, gammons, apples, cyder, flaxseed, & c. he intending to follow the business: All persons who shall favour him with their commands, may depend on being served according to bargain made, with integrity and dispatch: He may be spoke with at Adolph Waldron’s, near the ferry stairs, or at Captain Giles’s, near the North-River, or on a line being left at either places, he will attend them where they shall direct for him to call upon them who please to employ him. Moses Watman.

"On the River" was a public television project of WTZA-TV, Hudson Valley Television, Kingston, New York. Running from 1986/87-1993, all episodes of this series are now held in the Marist College Archives as part of their Environmental History collection. This episode is shared with permission by the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

"Logbook 1" introduces the viewer to the Hudson River and the groups that were working to clean it up in 1987, including the Hudson River Sloop Clearwater, Riverkeeper, and more.

We'll be sharing many of the river-related "Logbooks" from "On the River" over the next several Saturdays, so stay tuned!

Did you ever watch "On the River" when it originally aired? What was your favorite episode? Share in the comments!

If you'd like to see more videos from the Hudson River Maritime Museum, visit our YouTube Channel. For more "On the River" episodes, check out our YouTube playlist just for this show.

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

​Time to get back to the river.

We gathered on my screened porch on a sultry evening to talk about our previous river adventures and soon we convinced ourselves to paddle the river once again.  Instead of a major youth trip with all of the attendant planning, food, gear and boys of all ages and parents, we imagined a simpler, self-contained trip with one boat and no pre-planned overnight campsites.

Of all of the available boats, we chose to use a 26-foot strip planked canoe named Bear.  Built about 10 years earlier in a church basement, the Bear was large enough to take four or five adults and enough gear and food for a week.  It had a simple mast and square sail for use when winds were favorable, that is running or sailing on a broad reach.  The canoe had a relatively flat but slightly misshapen bottom, high freeboard, flat gunwales and an amber wood color inside and out.  The deformation of the hull resulted from the collapse of the sides as the builders struggled to remove the boat from the dust laden church fellowship hall.  Hydraulic jacks were required to once again give form to the canoe.  Once thwarts were installed, she held her form for the most part.  Remarkably, this canoe was an excellent rough water boat and a good sailor although her bottom would flex in an unsettling way over deep troughs.

We decided to approach the journey differently this time.  We chose to begin in Jersey City and use flood tides and expected southerly winds to carry us up the river.  That way, when tired at the end of the journey, we would be home instead of trying to arrange to get the boat and gear home from some difficult site in metropolitan New York, most likely during a rush hour or some typical urban calamity.  

One month later on a humid and overcast fall day, we met at the old barn to get the Bear out of storage with help from the barn owner and several others.  The canoe was in good shape after resting for three years.  However, when we unfurled the canvas sail, two of us got facefuls of raccoon and mouse crap.  After brushing it out, holes appeared.  There was no time for sewing, so the sail was expertly mended with generous applications of duct tape.  We inverted and hoisted the Bear onto the steel rack on Steve’s small rusted-out pick-up truck and fastened red rags to the awkwardly overhanging bow and stern.  The weather forecast was unsettling.  A cold front followed by northwest winds was expected to sweep through on day one, and three tropical storms are lined up in the Atlantic.  We returned to our homes to pack our individual gear in bright yellow dry bags.

We gathered on the river at Steve’s House in Cedar Hill for bagels and coffee before driving to Jersey City in the truck and Dan’s father’s car.  We arrived at Liberty State Park in approximately two hours and after driving around the perimeter of the park we found the boat launch.  It was sunny and humid.  We carried the Bear into the slip and stepped the mast, lashing it securely to the forward thwart.  We loaded the boat with dry bags containing personal gear, tents, food and water.  By now, curious onlookers had gathered and we took a few moments to tell them we were headed for Albany.  They shook their heads in disbelief.

New York Harbor and Manhattan
At 12:45, we said goodbye to our drivers, Roger and Dave, and began paddling directly toward Bedloe’s Island and the Statue of Liberty. A light west breeze could be felt, so we raised our newly mended sail and threaded a course between the Statue and Ellis Island. Did you know that the Statue of Liberty once served as an official lighthouse? We passed several ferries carrying tourists to the monuments before rounding Ellis Island and turning north into the mouth of the Hudson River. The wind began strengthening and shifting to the northwest setting up choppy waves as we sailed up the river. We were able to cant our sail and sail on a reach as the wind rose to 10-20 mph. Power cruisers began churning up big wakes and each time we had to turn the canoe to meet them head on, losing momentum. One wave soaked Dan in the bow and me in the stern, carrying away my water bottle. The leading edge of the spar carrying our square sail proved hazardous to Joe and Dan in the bow. Steve’s Giants hat blew off and smacked me in the chest. We lost a paddle and had to backtrack. 

A small keel sloop from a nearby sail training outfit joined us briefly and we were actually able to pull ahead of her. A very handsome French ketch sailed by on her way to the basin at 79th Street. We began to drift leeward toward the Manhattan waterfront and the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Wind and tide turned against us in the vicinity of West 30th Street and after struggling against them and making little progress, we pulled for the marina at Chelsea Piers at 3:30 for a much needed break. Here, we washed the salt spray off our faces, bailed out the bottom of the canoe and replenished our fresh water.

​At 4:00 PM we tried once again to make some progress. We tried to sail off of the northwest wind but without leeboards it was futile. We took down the sail and doggedly paddled north. We came upon up to a long rusty car float with spuds that was being used as a makeshift pier. The old lightship Frying Pan, recently raised from the bottom of Chesapeake Bay was tied up to it and at its outboard end was a rusty 1931 fireboat named John J. Harvey. There was a group of dirty but determined guys making repairs at the fantail (they later succeeded in making the fireboat operational; a year or so later, these same guys and their fireboat helped to evacuate lower Manhattan and pump water to the burning wreckage of the World Trade Center). We said hello and continued inching our way north. At 5:00 PM, exhausted and discouraged, we pulled out of the open river and into the lee of the aircraft carrier Intrepid, near 42nd Street, just to get out of the wind. It should have been slack tide but the current was still strong and southerly. We figured that we still had five miles to go to reach the George Washington Bridge and six more after that to reach a good campsite. This goal was becoming increasingly unlikely. Not to mention that we needed a rest.
 
During our interlude below the Intrepid, we watched three cruise ships back into the river, turn with the assistance of tugs and head for sea. We drank lots of water and told a few stories, including a few of Steve’s Peace Corps tales. His description of the parasitic guinea worm and the way it eats its way through human flesh to release eggs did not improve morale.
 
At 5:30 PM we covered our dry bags with the dirty canvas sail and decided to paddle for New Jersey in hopes of getting under the lee of the headlands leading to Fort Lee. It was fortuitous timing. Moments after departing on our westward heading, NYPD arrived in force at the Intrepid, apparently in search of a small boat load of refugees or terrorists. With blue lights flashing, they were everywhere; in squad cars on the pier, in patrol boats in the slip and individually climbing down beneath pilings. In fact the only place they failed to look was west toward the open river. We finally realized that the only place they couldn’t look was toward the setting sun and so we were able to escape by staying exactly between the setting sun and the Intrepid as we made our way to somewhere in New Jersey.

​We pulled into the Port Imperial Marina for a rest since the wind and tide remained adverse. After drinking lots of water and realizing that the flood tide was not going to arrive in time to help, we began paddling north again in search for a place to spend the night. The New Jersey shoreline here was bleak and industrial and our progress was excruciatingly slow. We began losing daylight. Ever the optimist, Steve tells us that “the Lord always provides” and that “He loves canoeists.” He suggested that we consider the 79th Street basin in Manhattan, but I expressed concern about security. As night descended, we discovered an abandoned and undeveloped railroad pier with brush and grass, roughly west of 79th Street. The shoreline was littered with junk and the outer end of the pier was separated from a construction site and high-rise residential towers by a big earthen berm. We landed, investigated the site and agreed with Steve that the Lord had indeed provided for us. Hence we named this place “Providence Pier.” We drew the Bear well above the wrack line and set up camp in a clearing. Joe began dinner. Dan and I climbed up the berm to see what was in the immediate vicinity and noted an auto lube shop and a nearby hospital. It did not seem likely that we would be seen or disturbed.  Meanwhile, we enjoyed the spectacular lights of Manhattan.
 
Dinner was served at 9:30 PM and consisted of an appetizer of cheese and tomatoes and a main course of macaroni, spaghetti sauce and hot dog chunks. A full moon came up and the wind rose to 30 mph. We had a magnificent view of the brightly lit Manhattan skyline. Steve chose to sleep under the stars but the rest of us climbed into pup tents. A family of skunks visited, but was content to sniff Steve and turn in for the night. The rising wind was an ominous sign for the next leg of the trip.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 2 of the trip!

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​