Belledoni’s Latest Fad. New York Girls Now Make Trips In Canoes and Become Heroines.
Special Correspondence of The Post.
New York, June 3. – The canoe threatens to become femininely  fashionable. A woman and a canoe – the two ought to go well together, for ever since there were women and canoes they have both had the reputation of being cranky.

“The fact of the matter is, the canoe has been slandered,” said a belle, in talking about canoing for women, “until it has got the reputation of being unsafe. That is what makes it popular among the more dashing of our girls.” She and her brother have made the trip up the Hudson to Albany and back, camping out on the way, and otherwise taking advantage of all the opportunities for roughing it.

“What did you wear? And what did you do with your clothes?” I asked. “You surely didn’t take  Sunday bonnet along.”

“I wore a blue flannel dress made all in one piece, with a blouse waist, no drapery, the skirt reaching to the tops of a pair of extra high boots. It weighed a pound and a half. I wore a sailor hat and carried a light jacket, to be ready for changes of weather. Our canoe is rather small to be used as a tandem – it measures fourteen feet by thirty inches – so that one could not have taken much luggage if we had wished. All that we carried weighed only about thirty pounds, and of this our photographic materials, plates, camera, etc., weighed between fifteen and twenty pounds.”

“What did you do at night, sleep on the ground and cover with your canoe, or go to a hotel?”

“We started with the intention of camping out every night, but camping places between here and Albany are not numerous and we sometimes had to stop at a hotel. But we did camp out about two-thirds of the time. We carried a small tent – made of sheeting, so that it would be of less weight than one of canvas – a blanket apiece and a rubber blanket to spread on the ground. We had a tin pail apiece, and a tin cup, tin plate and a knife each, and a few other primitive and strictly necessary articles. Then we carried a few canned meats, but not much in that line, as we expected to be able to buy most of what we would want at our camping places. In that we were sometimes badly disappointed. One evening we camped near Esopus, tired and hungry after paddling all day, and walked over the hill to the country store to find something to eat. But all that was to be had was a loaf of baker’s bread and a bundle of wilted beets. On another occasion all that we could get was some bread and milk and green plums. But usually we fared reasonably well. Then the numerous ice houses along the Hudson and the ice barges constantly going up and down made it easy to keep a tin pail full of ice chips, which seemed quite a luxury.”

“You did not feel afraid tossing about in all that wind and water in such a tiny shell of a boat?”

“Not in the least. I knew the canoe, and I felt just as safe there as I would on dry land. If the persons in a canoe know how to handle it and are reasonably prudent in their actions there is absolutely no danger. If they only sit still in the bottom of the boat they can’t overturn it if they try. One day we went aboard a brick barge, and the astonishment the men who ran the big, clumsy thing showed over our tiny craft was quite amusing. They considered us miracles, of course, because we were willing to go on the water in such a cockle shell and were absolutely sure that we would be upset in less than half an hour. And as for me, they could hardly believe the evidence of their eyes that I had been aboard the canoe, and nothing could have convinced them that there was another woman on the face of the earth who would dare venture in on the water.”
​
So the belle in a canoe is something of a proud heroine. – Clara Belle

​Dawn was cold and foggy. I rose early to sketch the Bear alongside the gnarled poison ivy tree with the tangled and eroded roots. We cooked up oatmeal and hot chocolate.  The fog began to thin and the tide was still going out when we felt a breath of air from the south. We were excited by the prospect that we could sail home. We packed hastily and slid the Bear over fifty feet of soft, low-tide mud until she was afloat. I rigged our mast and yard.

We aimed for the middle of the channel to catch the best air. The wind increased briskly as we cleared the northern tip of the island and we set our course for Four Mile Point. A big cruiser approached us carelessly and we had to turn to meet her wake. Dan was drenched in the bow and we had to bail. Hereafter, we attempted to signal power boats to slow down by pumping our paddles up and down. Most boaters were courteous and throttled back. The tide still hadn’t turned. The opposing south wind set up a heavy chop of short, steep waves. Steering with a paddle required vigorous draw strokes on each side to keep the canoe from veering off course. Joe set our aerodynamic mouse-eaten sail to its most efficient shape and the miles rolled by very quickly.
 
There is an old stone house perched on a west shore outcropping called Four Mile Point where a lighthouse once stood. We sailed by this quickly. On the east side we passed the railroad bridges over the Stockport Creek. A house was built here in 1664 but the occupants were massacred by Indians and burned inside with the house. This stretch of the river has a very wild and untamed feeling, enhanced on our passage by the rising wind and choppy surface.
 
The tide turned as we approached Coxsackie. With the assist of our sail, it felt as though we were surfing the crest of one of several tidal bores advancing northward. To our west, the opera house and the public dock came into view. Squinting, we could see the bones of the old steam packet Storm King, abandoned here during the Depression. To the east, the ornate brick chimney of the 1885 Scott Ice House broke the tree line at Nutten Hook. We had hoped to camp there, but our difficulties on the first day had changed up our anticipated destinations.

​We approached Coxsackie Island and needed to decide which channel to follow. The shorter west channel is narrow and shoal but looked to be passable for small boats. However as we approached it at low tide, the water became very shallow, so we took the long way around. We passed Rattlesnake Island and the foundation of the demolished Coxsackie Light, now bearing a steel cage tower instead of the historic brick house and lantern. There were strong eddies swirling around the limestone platform.
 
Stuyvesant Landing appeared to our east as we approached Houghtaling Island and yet another lighthouse foundation. The Island divides the river into a broad navigable channel to the west and a narrowing backwater to the east. Houghtaling Island has been radically changed from a series of small low lying marshy islands to a single, elongated island with higher terrain and deciduous trees by the addition of massive amounts of dredge spoil. We sailed up the west side of the island past the hamlet of New Baltimore with its old houses along the shore on terraces and a white steeple at the top. Sloop captain Joseph Sherman’s early nineteenth century riverside house with its distinctive verandah had recently been restored. Many power boat enthusiasts were out for the day from the marina just north of town. It was a perfect blue sky afternoon and we were able to completely relax as the wind rushed us northward. 

Steve opened up our food chests and built sandwiches and passed out apples as we rolled up the river to Coeymans. Just north of the hamlet were the remains of the Powell and Minnock brick yard and the active Blue Circle Cement marine terminal. Just beyond we found the ruins of a Victorian power house with a tall chimney marking the site of a long gone ice warehouse. The wind began slacking off as we passed beneath the parallel railroad and Thruway bridges at Selkirk. Here, a barge and tug overtook us. The wind came back to life and we surged past Castleton-on-Hudson and began looking for the mouth of the creek that leads directly to Steve’s house. The creek’s mouth flows through a narrow, unmarked gap in a long concrete breakwater. We spotted the gap just in time and made the perfect entrance, striking our sail at the last moment and retaining some of our momentum into the still basin inside the breakwater.

​​We paddled upstream and dropped Steve off at his house at 3:00. Steve walked to his truck and we returned to the river to take the canoe to the boat ramp at Henry Hudson Park. We arrived at the park simultaneously with Steve, unpacked the Bear and carried the canoe up to the truck, inverting and hoisting her up onto the steel rack. We returned the canoe to her barn and then went to our homes for long overdue showers.

Afterword
Muddy Paddle and his friends had hoped to paddle together again, but their nine-day trip up the river proved to be their last.  The attacks of September 11, 2001 and their aftermath made journeys of this kind seem indulgent.  The four adventurers were needed at work and at home.
 
Many things along the Hudson River, including some of those described in Muddy’s account, have changed over the last 20 years.  The Manhattan skyline has been transformed with the loss of the Twin Towers and the construction of new towers including the Freedom Tower with its tall mast punctuating ground zero. The 1931 fireboat John J. Harvey, first encountered by the paddlers as a rusty hulk, was restored and operational in time to assist in the 9/11/2001 rescue. The John J. Harvey was recalled to service by the New York City Fire Department and reactivated as Marine Company 2. Read more about her at https://www.1931fireboat.org/

Regrettably, the 1905 steam ferry Binghamton, on the Jersey shore, succumbed to neglect and sank.  In recent years, her remains were scrapped out and small pieces of her were donated to the Hudson River Maritime Museum.  Steve Trueman’s historic tugboats in Kingston are now gone; three of them were scrapped, one was returned to commercial service and a fifth is on the ropes near Albany.  Housing along the river expanded significantly with large condo complexes rising above the sites of factories, docks and rail yards.  A number of iconic Hudson River sites were stabilized and or restored including the ruins of Fort Montgomery, the Esopus Meadows Lighthouse and the Poughkeepsie Railroad Bridge, now the popular Walkway-Over-the-Hudson.  Public access to Bannerman’s Arsenal has been developed, although a large portion of the castle keep’s walls have fallen.  The old “erector set” Tappan Zee Bridge has been replaced by two massive cable-stay spans that dwarf everything in their vicinity.
 
But many of the most important things remain unchanged.  The rhythm of the tides, the rugged and monumental Palisades, the long stretches of wild shoreline, the distant views of the Catskills, fog on early autumn mornings, the earthy smell of the river above Kingston, the echoes of train horns in the Highlands and the willingness of those who live and work along the river to lend a hand to travelers.  The river will always reward those who take the time to paddle, row or sail her waters.  

​It was very cold at dawn with frost on the ground. The windmill at Rokeby Farms was silhouetted against the brightening eastern sky. I put on an extra sweatshirt and went out to sketch our cove and “Bob’s Bus” in my journal. The tide was still going out, so Steve and Joe had time to walk up the road to the steel gate to find out what place we were at.  They observed BIG signs warning against trespassing and threatening prosecution and wisely decided that it would be a good time to depart.
 
The tide was still going out at 9:15 when we made our offing. It was a beautiful and sunny fall morning with a breeze out of the north. We arrived at Ulster Landing after a brisk twenty minute paddle. As we approached the abandoned Turkey Point Coast Guard Depot, we observed a flock of geese on shore take flight.
 
With a favorable tide and a moderating wind we began to make real progress. We passed the 1794 Callendar House on the east bank and stopped to rest at the 1869 Saugerties Lighthouse. In earlier trips, we had stayed overnight here and simply dropped a contribution in the donation jar before leaving in the morning. When we arrived this time, the lighthouse was operating as a $140 per night bed and breakfast booked more than a year in advance.

​We made bologna sandwiches, drank lots of water and after a nice pause pushed off at 1:00. We paddled through the turbulent wake of a Mobil petroleum barge towing south behind a light blue tug. We followed the east shore alongside the tracks and signaled an Amtrak engineer to salute us with his blaring air horn. The afternoon was sunny and warm with only a light breeze from the north. The flood tide helped us cover ground quickly. We passed the grey concrete silos and conveyors at Cementon where the extensive concrete plants marred one of the most magnificent views of the Catskills. We steered for the center of the river, past the mouths of the Roe Jan Kill on the east and Ramshorn Creek to the west. Frederic Church’s Olana, begun in 1870, looked down upon us as we approached Catskill Point. Soon, the Rip Van Winkle Bridge loomed large.  Steve knows of a spatterdock-filled channel east of Roger’s Island which if passable, would have shaved a mile off of the main river route. We were tempted, but Steve was not convinced that the channel was clear all the way through. An eagle appeared and beckoned us to follow him north on the main channel of the river.

​After passing beneath the bridge, we followed the main channel toward Hudson and were buffeted by turbulence where two channels separate to follow separate paths around the elongated Middle Ground Island. The 1874 Hudson-Athens Lighthouse stands here with water swirling around its limestone platform. It was getting late and the tide was getting ready to reverse. We were faced with the choice of which side of the island to paddle along and which side offered the best hope of shelter overnight. We started up the Athens channel, but found nothing but low ground and tall grass and reeds. We turned around and came up the Hudson channel instead. We were swept along by a strong current and found many provisional squatter camps along the shoreline, some decorated by colorful road signs and multi-colored roofs made from salvaged material. We began looking for a clearing where we might camp without being noticed or hassled.

Smitty’s Place
 
All of the camps were closed for the season except for one, which was literally tumbling into the river. Here we found a man in a camouflaged bass boat. Steve hailed him and asked if anyone would mind if we camped here for the night. The man replied “no” and introduced himself as Smitty as we paddled in toward the shore. This was Smitty’s place and he guided us to a cove where we are able to tie up to beneath a sprawling maple tree covered with poison ivy. Steve bragged that once again, the Lord had provided for us.
 
We climbed out and introduced ourselves. Smitty’s camp was an informal, unplanned structure built from salvaged scraps of wood and partially cantilevered over the river. Two pilings hung from a corner where the bank had been undermined. Smitty explained that when he built the place, it was situated about fifty feet from the river’s edge. The camp consisted of a large shed with a tar paper roof slanting away from the river with an attached porch overlooking the river. An addition built out of a truck trailer or a refrigeration unit was attached on the upland side. A two-person bus seat (could it be from “Bob’s Bus?”) offered the perfect vantage point for enjoying views of the river and coming and going trains.

​Smitty invited us to sit down at the bus bench and several assorted stumps and he began a story about the island and this particular camp while I prepared a sketch. The island, enlarged by dredge spoil early in the twentieth century, became a favorite haunt for sportsmen and teenagers from the city of Hudson. Land ownership has remained ambiguous. New York State claimed the Middle Ground as state land and periodically threatened to remove the camps. Camp owners claimed that much of it was privately owned but that the deeds burned in a courthouse fire. According to Smitty, Columbia and Greene counties could not even agree on which county had jurisdiction over the island. Smitty told us that he represented the third generation of his Hudson family to maintain a camp here. As a boy, his mother warned him to stay away from the river, but this only encouraged him more. He and his friends still came out here to hunt deer and ducks and to drink beer. Their wives were resigned to the state of things and rarely ventured out to the camp. Smitty claimed that they had had some problems from interloping hunters from Athens, but that there had been little theft or vandalism. He was surprisingly philosophical about losing the camp one day realizing that things could change.      
 
It got dark and cold. We built a fire near the beach and Smitty invited us to stay in the “new” camp in the woods which was furnished with half a dozen cots. The new camp was enclosed but unfinished and roofed with an assortment of asphalt shingles of different colors and textures. Pieces of siding were being collected and stored underneath until enough were on hand to cover the walls. There was a convenient two-holer a respectful distance away and a shed for a portable generator. We hauled our gear to the new camp and returned to the fire. Smitty pulled the cord on his outboard and motored home. Joe cooked up beans and franks on the fire and we ate and told stories there. The sky became filled with stars as the temperature dropped. We watched the trains with bright lights arrive and depart from Hudson.
 
We put out the fire at 9:00 and returned to the new camp in the woods. It was dry and the mattresses were soft, but with only a screen door, it proved to be another very cold night.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for the final day of the trip!

Rondout Creek is a deep water tributary of the Hudson River. As the bird's eye and water level views above show, boats of many varieties have taken advantage of the deep water port for centuries. As the terminus for the Delaware & Hudson Canal (1828 -1898) Rondout Harbor saw lots of activity as canal boats came off the 108 mile long canal (Honesdale to Rondout) with loads of coal. 

Rondout Harbor was also the home of the Cornell Steamboat Company founded in 1847 by Thomas Cornell.  The Cornell fleet grew to 62 tugboats transporting coal and other goods to the New York City markets. Hudson River steamboats, including the Mary Powell,  and Hudson River Day Line carried passengers up and down the Hudson River. Smaller steamers provided transport to communities along Rondout Creek. More information about tugboats and steamers can be found here.