Out of the Creek. The journey begins.
 
The plan was to take the bateau, a small sailboat and a war canoe down the river to New York with a group of boys from several local youth organizations in the Albany area as soon as the school year ended. This involved getting the boats ready, asking parks and private land owners for permission to camp, buying and packing provisions and organizing shore support. 23 boys signed up and a few of their sisters joined us on some legs of the trip. The participants rotated to different boats each day and spent a day each on shore patrol in order to evenly distribute opportunities and to avoid complaints that rowing and paddling were too hard when compared with the relative ease of the sailing.
 
Several weeks before departure, we took the tarp off the bateau and found a bunch of snakes warming themselves on the bottom planks. We oiled and caulked the boat, turned her over and removed a few wasp nests that mud daubers had begun in the bow and stern. The sail rig was carried away in the January flood. The old lug sail rig had proven awkward to use so I designed a simple and smaller square sail with a yard that could be raised and lowered on a halyard. We launched the boat in the creek so that it could “take-up” in advance of the trip. The creek flooded three days later and temporarily sank her. She floated free from the bottom a few days after the flood and we had to bail out about a foot of muddy water and one good-sized sunfish. The planks were nice and tight at that point and she was ready for the trip down the Hudson.

The Sturgeon began the journey on a sunny Sunday morning at the creek with nine kids and parents. The first leg of the trip would carry the bateau about 15 miles down the river to Coxsackie, the rendezvous for meeting up with the other boats. After boarding the boat and casting off our lines, we rowed under a canopy of tree limbs as the creek meandered toward its mouth on the Hudson. We passed a brick house built by the Dutch in the 1730s and then into a small embayment with open sky. Finally, we rowed through a gap in a concrete bulkhead into the Hudson. The tide was just starting to go out and there was a nice breeze out of the north. We shipped our oars and raised our new sail and bowled straight down the river. Everyone was in high spirits. We kidded Gretchen when she squealed as the bateau heeled a little to one side when the wind strengthened. Seth and Brenda looked up in awe as we sailed effortlessly beneath the Castleton Thruway bridge and the adjacent railroad bridge where a mile-long west-bound freight was crossing. We sang songs and ate picnic lunches as the miles rolled under.
 
At Matthews Point, south of New Baltimore, a county sheriff’s marine patrol approached us with blue lights flashing and we had to strike our sail. The deputies asked us what the passenger capacity of our boat was. There were nine of us but I counted the seats and replied “eleven.”  We had been out in the boat before with 11 and she performed well and had plenty of freeboard. Naturally, we required everyone to wear personal flotation devices. They next asked us if they could see the builders plate. I replied that the boat didn’t have one. The patrol asked “Why?”  I replied that we built the boat ourselves. The officers then asked how we could determine the boat’s safe carrying capacity. I had to think about the right answer for a moment. I finally replied with one word. “Experience.”  The deputies thought about this for a minute, scratched their heads and finally wished us a safe trip. We raised the sail again, and after a few minutes regained our momentum.
 
We moved to the west side of the river as we approached Coxsackie so as not the miss the somewhat hidden channel that leads to the yacht club north of the village that kindly hosted us overnight. We raced past the foundation of the long lost Coxsackie lighthouse and then made our turn into the shallow channel behind Coxsackie Island. The yacht club was straight ahead. We struck our sail and rowed the remaining distance to the docks.

​The next installment of Muddy Paddle's Bateau will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddle Paddle on the Erie Canal,  Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his first canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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!​

In the 1960s, historian, expert boat modeler, and former antiquities thief Forrest Van Loon Ryder published a column in the Greene County News called "Old Timers: Boats of the Hudson."

In this article, entitled "Steamer Redfield burns at Sandbar between Athens and Hudson on 1910-06-20," published on September 16, 1965, Van Loon Ryder recounts the history of the steam freighter William C. Redfield. 

Although not a sidewheeler, at the time of her appearance the WILLIAM C. REDFIELD was considered one of the most modern freight boats on the Hudson River. She carried one stack and had four large openings on each side of her housing for loading freight and also boasted a small saloon for passengers on the second deck. The vessel was named for a man who made historic contributions to steamboat navigation, William C. Redfield of Cromwell, Connecticut. At a time when frequent boiler explosions were creating a fear of steamboats, Mr. Redfield devised Safety Barges, built in the manner of steamboats, but without power and towed by a steam boat. These lavishly furnished barges were popular from 1825 to around 1830 when their favor diminished, due to lack speed, and to fewer boiler disasters which eventually restored the public's confidence in steamboats. Mr. Redfield, who was superintendent of the Swiftsure Towing Line, also suggested the system of towing lets of canal boats, rather than having one of two canal boats on either side of the towboat. Quite often he would have towboats towing as many as 40 or fifty canal boats and barges.

The REDFIELD was constructed for Commodore Alfred Van Santvoord for service between New York and Albany. After serving on this route five years she was sold to new owners who placed her in service between Stuyvesant, Coxsackie and New York as a freight and passenger carrier. Running in line with the THOMAS MCMANUS these two large propeller vessels were a familiar site on this route for many years. Eventually the Catskill Evening Line acquired title to the REDFIELD and MCMANUS, and the two steamers continued to run in line until August 27th, 1902, when the MCMANUS burned at her pier in New York.

Finally the REDFIELD was returned to the route for which she was originally built and in later years was used only as a freight carrier.  

The REDFIELD was destined for a fate similar to that of her old running mate, the MCMANUS. On June 20th, 1910, as the REDFIELD was being tied up at her Athens dock, a fire was discovered in her hold. In flames, she was towed to the Middleground, a sandbar between Athens and Hudson, where she burned to the waters edge and became a total loss.
​
STATISTICS: Lewis Minnersley, builder, East Albany, NY. Wood hull, 370 tons. Length 182 feet; beam 33 feet; depth 10 feet. Fletcher & Harrison No. 49, single cylinder engine having a 36 inch cylinder with 34 inch stroke.

An article from the Boston Globe dated June 21, 1910 recounts the accident:

ANCIENT STEAMER BURNED. 
Sidewheeler W. C. Redfield, Built in 1864, Destroyed on the Hudson at Athens. 

HUDSON, N Y, June 20 - The freight steamer W. C. Redfield, owned by the Catskill & New York steamboat company, was destroyed by fire this afternoon, while lying at Athens, across the river from here. Her crew escaped unharmed. 

The vessel was at her dock when the flames were discovered and buildings along the water front were endangered. A ferryboat towed the steamer onto the flats, where she burned to the water’s edge. 

The Redfield was a sidewheeler of 700 tons, built in 1864, and was for many years of her early usefulness in passenger service on the Hudson.

​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!​

Today's Media Monday post is a follow-up to Earth Day, from before there even was an Earth Day. In 1964, New York State was facing a number of water quality and quantity problems. Gripped by a drought that ran some city reservoirs dry, the extent of water pollution in the state became increasingly clear as municipalities struggled to find clean drinking water. By the end of the year, Governor Nelson Rockefeller announced an "all-out program" to end water pollution. 

Hosted by Governor Nelson A. Rockefeller from the Executive Chamber in Albany, N.Y., Little Drops of Water is about drought, water usage and pollution of New York State's water resources. Featuring interviews with numerous experts and locals, including an interview with Commissioner of Health Dr. Hollis S. Ingraham, the film focuses on the domestic and industrial water and sewage uses throughout the state.  Gloversville, N.Y. and Rivershead, N.Y. are featured prominently. 

This film is part of the collections of the New York State Governor's office, part of the New York State Archives. 

Do you remember the drought of 1964? Or other droughts in your lifetime? Where does your municipality get its water from? Tell us in the comments!

To learn more about how the Hudson River played a role in the modern environmental movement, check out our online exhibit, Rescuing the River.

​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!​

Today's Featured Artifact is an eel pot used by Hudson River commercial fishermen. The wire pot contains a series of cones which allow the eels to enter the trap, but make it difficult or impossible to leave. The wooden pegs used as closures on this eel pot were carved by Hudson River commercial fisherman Henry Gourdine. 

​Eel fishing was once a major industry in the Hudson River. British food traditions include eel pie and jellied eel, smoked eel is considered a delicacy in most Eastern European and Scandinavian countries, and Japan, Korea, and Vietnam also enjoy eel in a wide variety of foods. In the mid-20th century, eel was a major export from the Hudson River fishery. 

American eel are opposite of many Hudson River fish in that they live in the river, and only return to the ocean to spawn. All American eels (and over 30 other species of eel) are born in the Sargasso Sea off the Atlantic coast of Florida and the Caribbean. The tiny new hatchlings ride the Gulf Stream north along the Atlantic coast in search of fresh water. By the time they reach the Hudson River, they are known as "glass eels," for their tiny, transparent bodies. 

American eel can take between 12 and 20 years to reach maturity, at which point they return to the Sargasso sea to lay and fertilize eggs. This lengthy period of maturity means fewer eels survive to reproduce. In addition, the damming of tributaries, habitat loss, pollution, and overfishing contributed to their precipitous decline in the 1980s. 

The exact life cycle of all species of eel and the reason for their decline remains largely a mystery, although more research is being conducted every year.

Today, American Eels are endangered and fishing for them in the Hudson River, and elsewhere, is no longer allowed. It may take decades for the population to recover. 

Thankfully, in 2008 the NYS Department of Environmental Conservation started the Hudson River Eel Project, in which volunteers work with DEC scientists and educators to count glass eels and help transport them over obstacles to access freshwater tributaries in the Hudson Valley.

To learn more about the project, check out the video below! 

​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: In 1996, our intrepid writer, Muddy Paddle, built a historic wooden bateau and took it and a group of kids down the Hudson River. Accompanied by a war canoe and a modern sailboat, the three vessels had many adventures along the way. Check back each Friday for the next installment. 

Although the word in French simply translates to “boat,” a bateau as understood in New York’s eighteenth and early nineteenth century history meant a flat-bottomed and double-ended boat used on the state’s inland waters for military transportation and freight. Typically 25 to 35 feet in length, these versatile boats were simple to build, stable and tough. They could be rowed, sailed or poled depending upon circumstances and they could be safely beached, dragged through the woods or over stony bars and rifts. During the French and Indian War, Abercrombie built 900 bateaux to move 16,000 troops on Lake George. During the American Revolution, Clinton assembled 220 bateaux to advance his strike force down the Susquehanna into Pennsylvania. And in the years before the construction of canals, countless bateaux were built to move freight east and west through the Mohawk, Oswego and Seneca watersheds.
 
I learned about these boats by diving on the remains of a few of them at the bottom of Lake George where hundreds were intentionally scuttled in 1758. Most of these boats were recovered the following year, but some failed to float free and still lie in the mud. These wrecks are found with with intact bottoms, some frames and piles of ballast rocks. The more I learned about how they were built and used, the more convinced I became that we could build one with kids and take it on camping expeditions.
 
Several replicas were built professionally before we got started including a beautiful Mohawk River bateau for the New York State Museum in 1992. At about the same time, Ted Caldwell, a high school teacher in the Adirondacks, began building these boats with students to teach math and carpentry skills. The big payoff was that they could take the completed boats out on the water at the end of the school year. Ted loaned one of these boats to me in 1993 for use as a template in building one that could be used on New York rivers including the Hudson. I opted to raise the sides of his boat a little higher than Caldwell’s prototype so that she wouldn’t swamp in the waves kicked up on the Hudson.

The new boat would measure a little less than 24 feet in length, 5.5 feet in beam and carry a 14-foot mast.
 
The first task was to obtain the required lumber. A sawmill west of Albany in the Helderbergs cut 450 feet of white pine planks ranging from 9 to 11 inches in width and roughly an inch in thickness and offered to help me and a group of boys plane the planks on one side and along the edges for $450. The planks, ranging in length from 12 to 16 feet were lengthened to 25 feet or more with scarf joints with the help of a local Social Studies teacher who built a jig so that the scarf angles would be uniform. A construction platform was built with scrap lumber donated by a local lumber company and the bottom boards were laid out on it, taking care to stagger the scarf joints. The shape of the bottom was traced from the bottom of Caldwell’s boat and the bottom boards were joined by cleats.
 
The frames were copied from Ted’s boat making sure that each was lengthened above the desired height, flaired and beveled at the correct angles to receive the side planks. Before the sides were installed, the bottom was given “rocker”, that is the upward curvature of each needed for better handling and rigidity by blocking up the bow and stern 3 inches. The sides of the boat were raised up in less than a day and the fitting of clamps, seats and rails went together easily over the course of a few evenings and weekends.

A local blacksmith offered to help me and a few boys hammer out iron work for the bow and stern on his backyard forge. The finished boat was oiled with a solution of linseed oil and pine tar and caulked after this had penetrated. A steering oar was fashioned from a sapling and a board, two more saplings were trimmed for use as a mast and spar and a sail was made from a painter’s drop cloth. The oars, however, were purchased.

The boat was launched in the Hudson and rowed by six boys approximately one mile to her new berth on the banks of the Vlomanskill near its junction with the Hudson. She was left there to “take up”, that is swell up with water so that the joints would tighten up and leak less. After a week, the boat was given a good Hudson River name, Sturgeon, and sea trials were conducted on the river. The boat performed well, steered easily and sailed downwind and on broad reaches. It was late in the season and so she was hauled out on the bank of the creek and inverted on the construction frames for the winter.

During the following spring and summer, the Sturgeon took a short trip on the Susquehanna River and a week-long journey down the Mohawk River between Rome and Schenectady. The boat was laid up on the shore in September, inverted on her frames again, oiled and then covered with a tarp.
 
We almost lost the boat a few months later. Heavy snows followed by a sharp January thaw and two inches of rain swelled the river and creek where the bateau had been set aside. The flooding covered all of the land surrounding the boat. Then it froze up. Steve, the property owner and I found a dingy, broke ice in front of us, and eventually reached the site of the all but submerged boat. The velocity of the water beneath the ice was frightening. We were able to secure a line to one of the forged ring bolts and tie the line to a nearby tree. That was about all we could do. We gingerly paddled back to high ground and hoped for the best. The line saved the boat from making a premature trip down the river and although chunks of ice scoured the landing site, carried away the sail rig and left a debris field of trees, branches, plastic bottles and tennis balls when the ice receded, the Sturgeon was in good shape. Plans were made for our long anticipated adventure down the Hudson.

The next installment of Muddy Paddle's Bateau will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddle Paddle on the Erie Canal,  Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his first canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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: 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 volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published March 19, 1973.

To a boatman, particularly a steamboatman, there was always something special about getting ready to go into commission in the spring of each year.
​
In the days of long ago, all steamboats and most tugboats would be layed up for the winter season as the river froze over in December.  In spring, when the days got longer and the ice broke up, the boats would get ready to go back into operation.  Then, it was a new season — you knew spring had really arrived.
 
On a tugboat, the crew would report aboard in the early morning.  All the new lines, supplies for the galley, mattresses, blankets and sheets and other supplies for the new season were brought aboard.  The cook would be rushing around getting the galley ready and cooking the first meal, which usually had to be prepared quickly.  Generally, he would go over to Planthaber’s on the Strand in Rondout and order his supplies for the first few days.  When these came down to the dock, they always looked as if they would last a month.

​Coaling Up
 
Then the tug would go down to the coal pocket and coal up.  The smell of dryed [sic] new paint in the fireroom and on top of the boilers, the soft hiss of the steam, and the pleasant aroma of the soft coal smoke made one so hungry, he could eat almost anything that was put before him.
 
Outside, the freshly painted cabins and coamings, the big shiny black smokestack with its yellow base, the glistening nameboards, and the new pennant on the jackstaff gently waving in the clean spring air suddenly made everything right with the world. 
 
Then when the tug started away from the dock for the first time, to feel and hear her softly throbbing engine, and the gentle wake of the water around her bow and stern were all sounds a boatman never forgets.
 
Down off Port Ewen, the tug would generally blow a series of salutes on the whistle.  It seemed there was always someone in the crew from Port Ewen.  Often you could see someone on shore or from the upper window of a house waving back with a towel or maybe even a bed sheet.  How clear and pleasant the whistle would sound in the early spring evening.  It was great to be back in commission!

That First Meal
​
And the first big meal— generally steak.  The table would be set with a fresh red and white checked table cloth and the cook would be wearing a big white apron—probably the cleanest it would be all year! The meal never tasted better.
 
And then to go to sleep on the first night in a comfortable bunk with nice, clean fresh sheets and blankets in a newly painted cabin was indeed pleasant.  Of course, after a hard day of getting lines and equipment all aboard, I am sure one could have slept soundly on a bed of hard rock!
 
It was much the same on the steamboats.  All the clean white paint, the fire and boat drills, old friendships renewed among returning crew members, the freshness of it all.  Somehow on that first day she went into commission — for that one day at least — if you were a deckhand you would completely forget all the white paint you would have to scrub, all the brass you would have to polish, all the decks you would have to wash down, all the lines at all the landings you would have to handle, and the thousands of deck chairs you would have to fold up and stow before the new season would come to its end in the fall.

​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!​

It's nearly Earth Day, so we thought we'd honor the environment with the Hudson River's most famous advocate - Pete Seeger. In this excerpt from the 1986 documentary film "The Mountain in the City," Seeger sings the song "Garbage" live with trash barges in New York Harbor in the background. The film was produced by New York State Legislative Commission on Solid Waste Management and has been digitized and shared by the New York State Archives.

Originally written by folk musician Bill Steele in 1969 after observing the practice dumping trash into San Francisco Bay to create fill for new construction, the song was an instant hit, coinciding with the first Earth Day in 1970. Covered by a number of folk musicians, including Seeger, "Garbage" remains a popular environmental anthem today. It was appropriate to include in "The Mountain in the City," as New York City at the time dumped its garbage directly into the ocean, a practice that did not stop until 1992.

GARBAGE - LYRICS

Mister Thompson calls the waiter, orders steak and baked potato
(Then) he leaves the bone and gristle and he never eats the skin
The busboy comes and takes it, with a cough contaminates it
(And he) puts it in a can with coffee grounds and sardine tins
And the truck comes by on Friday and carts it all away
A thousand trucks just like it are converging on the Bay

Oh, Garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage
We're filling up the seas with garbage
What will we do when there's no place left
To put all the garbage

Mr. Thompson starts his Cadillac and winds it down the freeway track
Leaving friends and neighbors in a hydrocarbon haze
He's joined by lots of smaller cars all sending gases to the stars
There to form a seething cloud that hangs for thirty days
And the sun licks down into it with an ultraviolet tongue
(Till it) turns to smog and then it settles in our lungs

Oh, Garbage, garbage
We're filling up the sky with garbage
Garbage, garbage
What will we do, when there's nothing left to breathe but garbage

Getting home and taking off his shoes he settles with the evening news
While the kids do homework with the TV in one ear
While Superman for thousandth's time sell talking dolls and conquers crime
(They) dutifully learn the date of birth of Paul Revere
In the paper there's a piece about the mayor's middle name
(And) he gets it done in time to watch the all-star bingo game

Oh, Garbage
We're filling up our minds with garbage
What will we do when there's nothing left to read
And there's nothing left to need
There's nothing left to watch
There's nothing left to touch
There's nothing left to walk upon
And nothing left to ponder on
Nothing left to see
And nothing left to be but garbage

In Mr. Thompson's factory they're making plastic Christmas trees
Complete with silver tinsel and a geodesic stand
The plastic's mixed in giant vats, from some conglomeration that's
Been piped from deep within the Earth, or strip-mined from the land
And if you ask them questions they say "why don't you see?
It's absolutely needed for the economy."

Oh, garbage, garbage, garbage
Their stocks and their bonds all garbage
What will they do when their system go to smash
There's no value to their cash
There's no money to be made
That there's a world to be repaid
Their kids will read in history book
About financiers and other crooks
And feudalism and slavery
And nukes and all their knavery
To history's dustbin they're consigned,
Along with many other kinds of garbage

If you'd like to learn more about Seeger and his role and the role of the Hudson River in the modern environmental movement, check out our online exhibit, Rescuing the River. 

​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 exercise troop was on the dock early this morning shouldering straps. Their drill sergeant ordered them to the retaining wall near our boat, instructed them to attach to the ball and pipe railing above it and then lean in and out on command, in step with a techno tape from her boom box. It was a rude way to be awoken. Shauna climbed out of her bunk and went up to the quarterdeck to glare at them, but they were clearly more afraid of the drill sergeant. They then performed a routine on mats. The leering gent from last evening got to his park bench perch in time for this and remained to keep an eye on us even after the exercise troop dispersed.

​We didn’t linger. Canal bridges open for boats at 7:00 AM. After mugs of strong coffee and slices of coffee cake, we called ahead to the Prospect Avenue lift bridge, and pushed off. The operator was ready about ten minutes later and when our light turned green, only a few cars were delayed. It was a cloudy but mild morning and the canal waters were mirror-like. As we returned to a rural stretch of the canal we saw birds and a fox trotting along the towpath. Lora and Shauna made some breakfast burritos which we enjoyed on deck.

​Brent took the helm as we approached Middleport. We decided to stop here, see the town and replenish our ice chest. The bridge here was ready for us after a short wait, and Brent proceeded to dock us on the concrete wall next to the bridge. We hit the wall at an oblique angle with a full head of steam, knocking condiments off the galley shelves and ringing the ship’s bell! I jumped off the boat with a line before “Captain Crunch” could try it again and managed to pull the stern of the boat back to the wall and tie everything up parallel to the wall.
 
Shauna had called ahead to find out where the nearest convenience store with ice was located. The gas station attendant told us it was only a few blocks from the canal. Maybe it seemed that way if you were used to driving around here, but the gas station turned out to be almost a mile away. Nevertheless, the exercise was good for us and we found some interesting architecture along the way including a cobblestone church.

​A breeze picked up later in the morning as we continued west. Brent brewed some fresh coffee just before we arrived at the Gasport lift bridge. The cabin top was cambered so I set my mug down on the deck as we throttled back to approach the bridge gently. Brent did the same. We were unable to raise the operator at first and a breeze was blowing us into the bridge. I tried backing us up while steering with the bow thruster but the wind kept trying to push the boat sideways. While stepping back and forth to see how much leeway I had on each side, I kicked both mugs over, making the steel deck both slippery and hot! After a few minutes of awkwardly trying to keep our boat in position, I gave up and headed the boat into an old wall. Brent tied us up and ran ahead to the lift bridge to ask some local fishermen there how we could get a hold of the operator. Just then, the bridge operator arrived by car and after picking Brent up, we went through the bridge.
      
We arrived in Lockport sooner than expected. Lockport is a small city situated right on the edge of the Niagara Escarpment, the same landform that underlies Niagara Falls. This geological barrier thrown across the route to Buffalo and Lake Erie represented a critical engineering challenge for the original canal builders. It was met by devising a flight of stair-step locks up the slope, cut right into bedrock. The “Flight of Five” as it is now known, was one of the great engineering achievements of the original Erie. The original locks were enlarged in 1842 and one side of these (the five ascending locks) remain. The other side was replaced by two massive concrete locks completed in 1914 during the construction of the twentieth century Barge Canal. They have a combined lift of 49 feet.  

​The approach to Locks E-34 and 35 passes through a valley of sorts with increasingly high terrain on each side. We saw a series of big nineteenth century houses with generous lawns along Market Street to the south. The Adams Street lift bridge has been closed to traffic for some time and locked in the raised position for boats. The Exchange Street lift bridge remains operational and when we spoke with the operator, he alerted the locks a short distance further west. The canal takes a slight jog to the left and the gates of the big locks loom ahead with turbulent water in the pool below.
 
Dave, one of two extremely friendly operators here asked us to wait as he locked down an eastbound tour boat. He then gave us the green light, guided us into the first lock chamber and took us up. The gates at the west end of the chamber opened and admitted us to the second chamber. Again, the gates closed behind us and we rose to the top of the escarpment. Once in position, he walked over to introduce himself and invited us to tie up on a wall that leads to the historic locks where excess water is discharged. It was a very kind offer that put us right in the center of Lockport’s most interesting attractions and spared us from having to resort to the upper terminal wall at least half a mile further west.

​After securing the Belle we walked a short distance into town to visit the Erie Canal Discovery Center, situated in a nineteenth century stone church building. The Center offers a 15-minute documentary describing the construction of the first locks as well as interesting artifacts. We explored the “Flight of Five” locks which were recently restored to operation for small boats. The current locks were completed in 1842 and were in use for more than 70 years. The limestone walls and wrought iron railings have grooves worn in them from the repetitive use of taut tow lines hauled by straining teams of horses and mules. We picked up lunch at a nearby burger joint and ate at a terrace overlooking the locks. We went to the famous Lake Effect ice cream shop for sundaes and enjoyed them under a gazebo on Canal Street.
 
We were less than a day from Buffalo and the western terminus of the canal, but we did not have enough time remaining with the “Belle” to cruise there, find an overnight berth in one of the Tonawandas and still make it east to Seneca Falls. We needed to turn back now. We said goodbye to Dave, the lock operator and he prepared lock E-35 for our entry without any wait. I made a complete hash out of getting into the lock with the creeping transmission, banging the wall and lining up crooked. Up in the bow, Brent had almost no line to grab. In the stern, my boat hook inadvertently extended and I nearly lost my purchase on the line at my end. Fortunately, we went down quickly, entered E-34 and went down there just as quickly.
 
The huge gates boomed open. A tour boat was waiting just outside to lock up. We waved to the passengers, thanked Dave on the radio, and slowly got underway. “Captain Crunch” took the helm and we began the three-day return to Seneca Falls.

​Transiting the historic Barge Canal system and discovering the communities that grew up along its path is a perfect way to reconnect with people, experience our state in a more intimate way and to better appreciate the history and natural beauty of New York State. The slow pace of travel along the canal encourages exploration, reflection, creative pursuits and the opportunity to get to know people and towns that are invisible while driving at high speeds to more traveled destinations and cities. The unplanned discoveries, minor incidents and occasional challenges enrich the experience and deepen its authenticity.      
 
The Erie Canal and its branches once defined New York State and the ability of New Yorkers to accomplish what others could not imagine. The system still connects all of state’s major cities by water.  It still links the Hudson River, the Great Lakes, the Finger Lakes, Lake Champlain and many of New York’s most popular recreational destinations. The canal system contributes to irrigation, flood control, and power generation. Importantly, it remains available albeit underutilized for commercial transportation, especially for oversized products such as turbines.
 
Today’s canal system is a significant driver of heritage tourism providing a scenic corridor for private, rental and tour boats as well as for walkers, paddle driven craft and bicyclists. It is strikingly beautiful. Landscapes both grand and prosaic come into focus at each turn and canal-side communities with historic main streets have rolled out the red carpet for visitors. In spite of this, New York State’s canals are still enjoyed by and appreciated by too few.
 
In recent years, the maintenance and operation of these canals, once managed by the NYS Department of Public Works and NYS Department of Transportation, has been transferred to the NYS Thruway Authority and now the NYS Power Authority, an organization headquartered in White Plains with little institutional affinity for navigation. The current Reimagine Initiative, begun in 2017, offers an opening to canal critics who feel the system costs to much, benefits too few, and should be dismantled into small recreational segments for local uses. Instead of diminishing our canals, the system should be protected as the critical waterway that connects virtually all of New York State.
 
I hope readers of this account will discover the Barge Canal while it remains fully operational. Explore its navigable waters, spend money in its towns, commune with New York State’s past and advocate for its continued operation as a navigable waterway and corridor for investment.

That's all folks! Thank you for joining us on this Erie Canal journey. To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, and Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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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 volunteer Carl Mayer. This article was originally published April 2, 1972.

For nineteen years prior to 1882, there were two very elegant, fast sidewheel steamboats operating between Rondout and New York City.  Both steamers were owned by different companies, but operated on the same route on the same schedule on alternate nights, giving a daily service for passengers and freight to New York.  One steamboat named “Thomas Cornell” was owned by the Cornell Steamboat Company.  The other, slightly smaller, was named “James W. Baldwin” and owned by the Romer and Tremper Steamboat Company.

On March 27, 1882 — 90 years ago tomorrow — the "Thomas Cornell” was to leave Rondout on the final, fateful trip of her career.  On her last voyage she had a fairly large load of freight on her main deck forward, the principal item of which was Delaware and Ulster County butter for the New York market, and for that time of year quite a few passengers, approximately 90.

One of the passengers was the late Mrs. Edith Schryver of Port Ewen.  She was a young girl on that March night and lived beyond the age of 90.  I talked to her several times about the “Thomas Cornell’s” last sailing.

A Rainy Day

The afternoon of March 27, 1882 was hazy with intermittent rain.  Promptly at 6 p.m., her regular departure time, the “Thomas Cornell" cast off her mooring lines, backed down on her stern line to swing her bow out into the creek, and blew one long whistle to let go.  Small patches of snow could still be seen in the hills of Sleightsburgh.
 
As the “Cornell” slowly paddled down Rondout Creek, she passed several Cornell sidewheel towboats tied up at the lower Cornell repair shops and a number of ice barges and D. and H. canal boats waiting for repairs at the Morgan Everson shipyard at Sleightsburgh.
 
As the steamer passed out of the mouth of the creek and past the Rondout Lighthouse, which then stood on the south bank of the creek, Mrs. Murdock (the keeper) came out to wave to Mrs. Schryver.  Mrs. Murdock was a relative of Mrs. Schryver and knew she would be a passenger on the “Thomas Cornell” that evening.
 
As the "Cornell" headed down on the lower ice house at Port Ewen, they could dimly see through the rain and fog banks several schooners and Hudson River sloops anchored in the bad weather and waiting for the tide.
 
A Thick Fog

Down off Esopus Island, the fog set in very thick.  At that point occurs what rivermen call a fog hole, because it comes from both sides of the river.  Beaver Creek on the east shore and Black Creek on the west shore.  Off Hyde Park, they overtook the towboat "Silas O. Pierce" with a schooner alongside and passed at a nice distance.
 
The regular landings were made at Poughkeepsie, Milton and Marlborough.  As the “Thomas Cornell” left the dock at Marlborough at 8:10 p.m., she grazed the bowsprit of a schooner and broke some slats in her gangway railing.
 
A few minutes earlier, while still at the Marlborough landing, the "Cornell’s" captain, William H. Cornell, had expressed the opinion it might be wise to lie there until the weather improved.  First Pilot Henry W. Briggs, however, assured the captain there was no danger and the steamer got underway.
 
From Poughkeepsie to Danskammer Point, about 2 ½  miles below Marlborough, the river is relatively straight.  On around Danskammer Point, a pilot would alter course and head straight for Smith’s Bluff above Newburgh.  Danskammer Point itself is a headland that projects out from the west bank and on its northern side sweeps around in a curve which ends in a narrow formation of rocks bearing north and rises about twelve feet above the water.
 
Visibility Worsens
 
After the "Thomas Cornell" left Marlborough the fog seemed to lay on the water, like the rain was trying to push it back in the river.  Both First Pilot Briggs and Second Pilot Louis Shultis were in the pilot house.  They could just see the top of Hampton Bluff, a large hill about half way between Marlborough and Roseton.  The visibility got worse, but pilot Briggs, known as an ace pilot, was confident that his course would take him past Danskammer and into upper Newburgh Bay.
 
Something, however, went wrong.  Perhaps the pilots misjudged the strength of the tide.  Perhaps some metal object had drawn the compass off a couple of points.  In any event, Captain Cornell entered the pilot house and shortly afterward Second Pilot Shultis shouted, “Heave! Heave!” and rang to stop.  At that instant, the “Thomas Cornell” ran right up on Danskammer Point.
 
If she had been but 25 or 30 feet to the east, she would have just missed, but this was not the case.

Since the “Cornell” was just in too close, her bow plowed up on the rocks and knocked down scrub pines and alders.  Her deck beams and planking must have made a terrific cracking and splintering sound on that quiet rainy night as she climbed up that rocky arm protruding out in the Hudson.
 
Life Boats Over

Her stern began to settle in the water and in a few moments life boats were put over and ladders placed from the bow to the ground.  Some passengers and crew went down the ladders directly to terra firma.  In 20 minutes all of the passengers and their baggage were ashore.
 
Over 50 years later, I was told by a man who worked at the brickyard below Danskammer Point that he had lived in the area and was about 14 years old the night of the accident.  He told me how he had heard a loud crash like trees crashing in a high wind.  When he started up to where the noise came from, he could hear loud talking and a bell ringing, like the sound of a distant church bell.  The bell had actually been the bell of the “Thomas Cornell” being tolled by her officers to attract attention.
 
The man told me that when he got to the scene through the fog and rain over the rocks, there were all these people and that great white steamer with her bow standing high out of the water among the rocks and trees.  He said he was so frightened he couldn’t say a word.  Everybody else seemed to be talking at once.
 
The tolling of the "Cornell’s” bell attracted the attention of the passing steamer “John L. Hasbrouck," the Poughkeepsie to New York night boat.  The “Hasbrouck”’ took aboard most of the passengers and part of the crew.  At Newburgh, the crew members and 30 passengers, who had had enough steamboating for one night, went ashore and spent the night.  The remaining passengers continued on to New York.
​
The Salvage Job
 
Preparations were immediately undertaken to salvage the wrecked steamboat and the Coast Wrecking Company with a bid of $17,500 was given the job.  Under the direction of Wrecking Master Merritt, the "Thomas Cornell” was pulled off Danskammer Point on May 5, floated and towed to Port Ewen.  She had suffered so severely in the accident, however, a decision was made to abandon her and build a new boat to replace her.  The hull was later made into two barges.
 
Pilot Briggs was deeply affected by the accident.  Some second guessers blamed him for running in the fog.  Others approved his action, pointing out that the steamboat owners took a dim view of employees who lost valuable freight and passengers by tying their boats up at docks along the river.  It would appear the second group were sounder in their thinking, at least at that time, as all other boats the night of the accident were reported by Poughkeepsie on time.
 
The accident led indirectly to several other later incidents.  For the balance of the season of 1882, the steamboat “City of Catskill” was chartered from the Catskill Line to run in the place of the lost “Thomas Cornell.”
 
Next winter, the Cornell office on Ferry Street in Rondout caught fire and was destroyed.  The fire spread to the steamer “City of Catskill” which was layed up in the ice behind the Cornell office and totally destroyed the steamboat.
 
The next year, the new steamboat the “City of Kingston,” which was built to replace the “Thomas Cornell,” appeared on the river.  In 1889, she was sold and went all the way from Rondout around Cape Horn to Puget Sound, where she was later sunk in a collision.  This, however, will be the subject of a later article.

Today's Media Monday features a recent lecture at the Hudson River Maritime Museum - "Keepers of the Light: Women Lighthouse Keepers of the Hudson," given by Sarah Wassberg Johnson, Director of Exhibits & Outreach at the museum.

​For upcoming lectures, visit our Lecture Series page!

If you'd like to learn more about Hudson River Lighthouses, visit our lighthouse website, or purchase the book, Hudson River Lighthouses​, published by the Hudson River Maritime Museum!

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