Editor's Note: This story is from the October 5, 1889 issue of Harper's Weekly. ​The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

"A Barge Party - On our next page we have a view of a merry party enjoying a moonlight row on the Hudson River. The barge belongs to the Nyack Rowing Association. The scene is that wide and beautiful expanse of the Hudson which our Dutch ancestors named the Tappan Zee. It lies between Tarrytown and Nyack, and although not beyond the reach of tide-water and subject to the current, it still possesses the attraction of a calm and beautiful lake. Viewed from certain points it loses the impression of a river altogether, and seems a fair and beautiful sheet of water locked in by towering hills. The light-house in the centre of the picture is known as the Tarrytown Bay Light. On the left lies Kingsland Island, and in the background we have the village of Tarrytown, adorned with its gleaming electric lights.

These rowing parties are a source of keen delight to the lady friends of the members of each association. So far the clubs had not yielded sufficiently to the spirit of the age to admit lady members, and if any one connected with the association desires to give his fair friends an outing, he must engage the barge beforehand and make it a special event. As a general thing it is required that some member of the club shall act as coxswain; this to assure safety to the previous craft. The party may then be made up in accordance with the fancy of the gentleman who acts as host. Most of the associations have very attractive club-houses, where, after the pleasure of rowing has begun to pall, parties can assemble, have supper, and if there are lady guests sufficient, enjoy a dance. The club-house of the Nyack Association is a very attractive structure, built over the water, and forms a pleasant feature in the landscape. The members of these clubs are not heavily taxed, their dues scarcely amounting to more than $25 or $50 per year, yet their club-houses are daintily furnished, their boats of the best and finest build, and all their appurtenances of a superior order. So much can be done by combination.

In our glorious Hudson River we have a stream that the world cannot rival, so wonderful is its picturesque loveliness. High upon the walls of the Governor’s Room in the New York City Hall is a dingy painting of a broad-headed, short-haired, sparsely bearded man, with an enormous ruff about his neck, and wearing otherwise the costume of the days of King James the First of England. Who painted it nobody knows, but all are well aware that it is the portrait of one Hendrik Hudson, who “on a May-day morning knelt in the church of St. Ethelburga, Amsterdam, and partook of the sacrament, and soon after left the Thames for circumpolar waters.” It was on the 11th of September, 1609, that this same mariner passed through a narrow strait on an almost unknown continent, and entered upon a broad stream where “the indescribable beauty of the virgin land through which he was passing filled his heart and mind with exquisite pleasure.”
​
The annually increasing army of tourists and pleasure seekers, which begin their campaign every spring and continue their march until late in the autumn, sending every year a stronger corps of observation into these enchanted lands, all agree with Hendrik Hudson. Certainly it only remains for tradition to weave its romances, and for a few of our more gifted poets and story-tellers to guild with their imagination these wonderful hills and valleys, these sunny slopes and fairy coves and inlets, to make for us an enchanted land that shall rival the heights where the spectre of the Brocken dwells, or any other elf-inhabited spot in Europe.

When it comes to song lyrics, the Hudson River is truly global. Today's Music Monday song is by Swedish singer songwriter Eva Eastwood (birth name Eva Östlund). Although primarily a rockabilly artist, Eastwood's 2006 album, Ton of Heart, took a more country/folk turn, and featured all-English songs, including "Hudson River." Today, Eastwood remains a top-charting artist in Sweden.

HUDSON RIVER SONG - LYRICS
by Eva Eastwood
​
As far as I could see now, Mama
I stood in front of a big wall
and the hole you left within my heart
kept me listenin' for an important call

And I promise you that I stood up
When I heard somebody say let's let her
A voice as strong as the Hudson River.

5 o'clock a.m. I turned to see what your friend had got
In spite of who I am he opened up for me a shot

And the love that he delivered
Was as deep as the Hudson River

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe I ain't never turned to God
If I could have kept you here for real
Maybe I ain't never been so odd
If I wouldn't have had this heart to heal
And I done so many stupid things
At the time I thought that I would wither
When I was lonesome as the Hudson River

To feel the whole of you, I turned to see what your friend had got
In spite of who I am he opened up for me a shot
And imagined I needed a forgiver
Just as precious as the Hudson River

5 o'clock a.m. I turned to see what your friend had got
In spite of who I am he always kept the door unlocked
And the tone of love that he delivered
Was as strong as the Hudson River

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Originally named, "Eugene," the ice yacht Vixen was built in 1886 in what is now Chelsea and was the first successful lateen-rigged ice boat. The new rigging style allowed for even greater speed. Purchased by John A. Roosevelt (FDR's uncle) and renamed Vixen, she can still be seen plying the Hudson whenever it gets cold enough to freeze. 

John A. Roosevelt, who lived at Springwood, just down the river from his sister Sarah Roosevelt's home (now the Home of Franklin D. Roosevelt National Historic Site), owned a number of ice boats, including the Icicle, on display at the Hudson River Maritime Museum. John A. Roosevelt founded the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club in 1885, breaking away from the older Poughkeepsie Ice Yacht Club (founded in 1861) over a dispute about race results. John A. Roosevelt served as the club's first Commodore and his nephew Franklin served as Vice-Commodore for a time.

​This brief video of Vixen sailing c. 2010 gives a first-hand look at what sailing the old stern-steerers is like. 

By the 1920s, the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club had fallen into disuse. The old wooden stern-steerers like the Vixen began to be overshadowed in popularity by more modern, streamlined ice boats that looked more like rockets with sails than the old-fashioned kind. Innovations in speed and technology, centered around the Great Lakes in the Midwest, made the old wooden boats obsolete. The knowledge that many of the old stern-steerers, tucked away in garages and barns, were in danger of disappearing. But in 1964, a group led by Cornwall resident and ice boating enthusiast Ray Ruge revived the HRIYC and began rescuing and restoring these old boats. 

The Hudson River Ice Yacht Club is still around today, although they get to sail a lot less frequently than they used to, thanks to climate change. You can read more about the formation of the club, and ice yachting on the Hudson River in general, in this article, "Two Centuries of Ice Yachting on the Hudson" by Brian Reid, published in the 2007 issue of the Pilot Log. 

You can learn more about ice boating and see John A. Roosevelt's Icicle as well as the smaller ice boat Knickerbocker on display at the Hudson River Maritime Museum. The museum also holds the Ray Ruge Collection, including many photographs, articles, and correspondence related to the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club, its stern-steerers, and its members. 

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!​

                                                           No. 27- M. Martin
           
Built in 1863 at Jersey City for the Catskill and Albany day route, the 191 foot “M. Martin” was considered at that time one of the most handsome boats of her type ever to appear on the Hudson river. And the “M. Martin” has a historic background second to none of the vessels ever to ply the Hudson.
              
Because she was constructed in 1863, shortly after the Civil War broke out, the “M. Martin” was pressed into service under General Grant, and during the latter part of the war she was used as General Grant’s dispatch boat on Chesapeake Bay, carrying troops and messages across the bay and river. The “M. Martin” was known as the “greyhound” of the fleet of inland steamers that served the federal government during the war, and after the fall of Richmond, President Abraham Lincoln and General Grant made a visit to the Confederate Capital aboard the “M. Martin.”
              
At the close of the war the “M. Martin” was brought north and purchased by Romer & Tremper of Rondout who placed her in service on the Newburgh and Albany route, running in line with the “Eagle.” These two boats ran together until August 2, 1884, when the “Eagle” was destroyed by fire and the “Jacob H. Tremper” was built to take her place.
              
In 1899, the “Martin” was sold to the Central Hudson Steamboat Company of Newburgh, and served that company many years. She was an exceptionally fine performing vessel in the ice and was thus one of the first out in the spring and the last boat in at the close of navigation in the fall.
              
On Thursday, June 16, 1910, laden with freight and about 20 passengers, the “M. Martin,” southbound from Albany to Newburgh, caught fire and was beached near Esopus Island on the east shore of the Hudson, where all passengers were taken off in small boats. Captain George Hadley first noticed smoke curling from the pilot’s cabin in increasing volume, so he beached the vessel, saw that the passengers were safely taken off, and then got the “Martin’s” firefighting apparatus working playing streams of water on the flames. It was a matter or about 10 minutes for the water to quench the flames, and with only a scorched pilot house to record her experience, the “M. Martin” proceeded on to Newburgh.
              
After repairs had been made, the “M. Martin” resumed service, running until the fall of 1918, when she was laid up. Then in the summer of 1920, the work of junking the “M. Martin” began. Everything of value was removed from a vessel that had once conveyed a President of the United States, and the hull was purchased by Patrick Doherty to use for dock purposes at Eavesport, a small landing near Malden on the Hudson.

                                                                      No. 177- Norwich
              
Running a close second to the Mary Powell for its fame on the Hudson river comes the old Norwich, known to followers of the river’s history as the “Ice King.”
              
The wooden hull of the Norwich was built by Lawrence & Sneden at New York in 1836, and her engine was the product of Hall & Cunningham of New York. From stern to stern the Norwich measured 160 feet; her breadth of beam was 25 feet five inches; depth of hold five feet nine inches; gross tonnage 255; net tonnage 127. Her engine was of the crosshead variety with a cylinder diameter of 40 inches with a 10 foot stroke, and she carried one boiler in her hold.
               
The Norwich was built for the New York & Norwich Steamboat Company and ran on Long Island Sound for a number of years after she was launched.
              
The year 1843 marked the appearance of the Norwich on the Hudson river- in service between Rondout and New York as a passenger and freight carrier; and about 1850 Thomas Cornell purchased the steamboat and converted her to a towboat.
              
It was about the middle of the nineteenth century  that the Norwich began a procedure which was to gain for her the title of “Ice King”- a title which was never disputed! Her construction was such that heavy river ice usually broke before her onslaught, and in the early spring and late fall the Norwich was a familiar figure breaking ice along the river.
              
The bow of the Norwich was so constructed that she could run upon and break down heavy ice fields, and the bottom of the steamboat was well protected with copper and steel. Her paddle wheels were fashioned out of live oak and iron, and her commander, Captain Jacob DuBois often said that, “She could run through a stone yard without damaging herself.”
              
The spectacle of the Norwich battling heavy ice was always interesting to watch, and occasionally when endeavoring to break down large mounds of ice, the staunch vessel was turned over on her side. At such time prompt action was necessary by the crew in the shifting of chain boxes and weighty ballast to right the vessel. The wheels of the Norwich were so placed that one of them could be detached quickly- and thus the tilting of the steamboat was of little importance. It is safe to assume that the Norwich saved many thousands of dollars of damage by her successful attempts at breaking up the ice in the river and thus preventing floods and serious jams.
              
Frequently the Norwich was called upon to rescue vessels caught in the ice on Long Island Sound, and in the year 1851 she fought what was perhaps her greatest battle with the ice. The steamboat New Haven was caught in the ice, and the Norwich went to her aid. Rows of ice so high that the stranded New Haven could not be seen from the pilot house of the Norwich was finally crushed down by the old “Ice King,” and the Sound vessel was released from its perilous position.
              
Usually the first vessel on the river in the spring and the last to tie up in the winter, the Norwich was also a conspicuous figure in the steamboat parade in New York harbor on September 25, 1909. On two occasions the Norwich was almost destroyed by fire, (December 16, 1906 and August 30, 1909) and both times she was rebuilt and placed in service.
              
Many of the well-known figures in Hudson river history were connected with the Norwich at one time or another, including Captain George B. Gage, Captain Stephen Van Wart, Captain Jeremiah Patteson, Captain Delzell, Captain Harry Barber, Captain James Welsh, and Captain Jacob DuBois.
              
​The Norwich continued her career on the Hudson river until 1921 when she was deemed of no further use and was tied up at Port Ewen. In November 1923 the Cornell Steamboat Company sold the Norwich to Michael Tucker of Port Ewen, who broke her up for scrap. Today the fame of the Norwich is constantly recalled through stories passed from one individual to another, and visitors to the Senate House in Kingston are reminded of the old “Ice King” when they view the bell of the Norwich which is displayed in the local museum.

In the early days of automobiles, speed demons were not content with ice yachts, and tried their luck on the frozen Hudson with autos instead.

On January 28, 1912, Robert E. Hopkins drove his automobile from Tarrytown to the Tarrytown Lighthouse (today known as the Sleepy Hollow Lighthouse). This was before General Motors filled in all but 100 feet of water to the lighthouse, so this was quite the distance. According to the New York Times, "The feat had never been attempted before." Robert E. Hopkins was the son of Robert E. Hopkins, Sr., who had supposedly "made millions in oil." Hopkins wasn't alone on the ice that day - plenty of people were out skating, on horseback, and even in automobiles, but most stuck close to shore, where the ice was more reliable. 

Just a few days later, on February 3, 1912, Fred Koenig in his Mercedes and raced against M.R. Beltzhoover's Mercer in a 25 mile route on the ice off of Tarrytown. Koenig won that race by two laps, but Beltzhoover won the three mile straightaway race from the Tarrytown lighthouse to the Tarrytown Boat Club docks. Other auto races also gave speed exhibitions, and Beltzhoover got his Mercer up to 75 mph. 

The ice was "in fine condition," so arrangements were made "for a bit automobile meet next week." 

Despite these recreational activities closer to shore, the main shipping channel was still open - being kept clear by icebreaking tugs. 

Editor's Note: This article was originally published on January 12, 1896 in the Chicago, Illinois The Daily Inter Ocean.  The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

New York, Jan. 10 – Special Correspondence. – The most popular new sport of the winter is golf on ice. This is like golfing on land, with a few important differences, but the persons who golf upon the ice are the same ones who golf on land. The popularity of the sport will not allow it to die during the months when the earth is covered with snow too deep for running across the links on land.

In the neighborhood around New York the most popular place for ice golfing is the Hudson River when it is frozen stiff as a sheet of ice and is covered with snow, from up above the Palisades down to where the river finds the harbor.

The way to play golf on ice is to mount upon skates and chase a ball over a certain course. So far it is like golf on land. The necessary attribute of golf on ice is that one should be a very expert skater, and that one has endurance and strength and can be comfortable in cold weather.

When the Gould family went up to the ice carnival at Montreal just a year ago upon that memorial tour when Count de Castlane proposed to Anna Gould, one of the prettiest sights they saw was the Montreal ice golfers. Pretty English girls with warm clothes and red cheeks swung the golf sticks high in the air and made flying descents upon the ball, chasing it as though on wings. A game of golf on ice progresses faster than a game of golf on land, and more space is covered in one link than there is in a whole country golf course.

The girls of the Hudson – those hearty daughters of millionaires who persisted in living along the banks of “the Rhine of America” most of the year – began ice golfing this winter. Their plan is to lay out links in the form of a course. The course is marked by a trail of fine dark sand, which is sprinkled upon the ice or upon the snow that covers the ice of the river. There isn’t over a handful in a mile of trail, but it is enough to mark the course.

The “Tee” in a Pile of Snow
The “teeing hole” lies upon the bank of the river. You start your ball along the trail, keep it going with as few strokes as possible on account of the score, and finally drive it ashore and into a “tee.” The second link lies farther on, and on the ice in this case is on the opposite shore of the river, maybe a mile across. All skate along to see fair play and the little caddy keeps close to the player’s heels.

On the return course the trail lies down the middle of the river, and the tee is a pile of snow with a hole sunken in it for the ball. This is very difficult to “make,” as the smoothness of the ice and the smallness of the hole carries the ball on and around instead of in. But it can be done. The etiquette of the teeing ground is the same on ice as on land. Not a word must be spoken at the tee, until the ball has been safely landed in the hold. The length of a proper golf course on ice, instead of being the regulation distance of five miles, is always twenty-five. Those who do not care to skate can drive along the river bank, or upon the ice, and watch the game.

If a millionaire could buy ice ponds with money it is sure that George Vanderbilt would have golfing on ice at the opening of his home, Biltmore, in North Carolina this week. Every other outdoor sport has been provided. There is a beautiful pond there that occasionally freezes over, but the crust is never thick enough for so many players and their spectators. But there are all things in readiness for golf on ice, and if the cold snap comes they will have it.

The Seward Webbs, whose Shelbourne farms, in New England, is the ideal country place in the world, have a lovely winter golf course that lies over a frozen lake. When the land is passed and the player reaches the lake she has her caddy slip on skates, and the two strike out after the ball. The tools required for golf on ice are the oval and flat ones. The round and pointed sticks and clubs are not needed. There are no obstructions on the ice like fences, but there are snowdrifts that require a frequent lofting of the ball. In fact, for golf on ice a particular science is required. The average player would strike straight ahead and be obliged to come back and, finally, waste more time in returning than would be allowed for a good game.

Back upon the Rockefeller country places that adjoin each other in the Tarrytown region there is a lovely spot that nestles quietly enough in the hills to tempt another Rip Van Winkle to lie down for a long slumber. To this spot the golf craze has penetrated, and a little house has been put up for the players. They gather in her as though in a clubhouse, get warm, eat little luncheons, and start out upon the chase across the ice. They can easily cover twenty-five miles in an afternoon’s golfing on ice.

Expert Girl Golfers
Hitherto the Meadow Brook Club people (who entertained the Duke of Marlborough on the hunt when he was here, and who bring their guests from the Pacific coast every fall for the hunting) have languished during the deep-snow season; but this fall the waters nearest them, the sound, the bay, the open bit of harbor, wherever there is a strip of ice, have been called into play for ice golfing. There may be as many links as one pleases, according to their newest rules, all to be decided the day before by a committee, which is governed by the state of the weather and the ice.

Golfing upon the ice is a special sport with the young millionairesses and debutantes. They have opportunity for so many pretty poses. Nothing is more graceful than skating, and the playing of a game upon the ice is bewitchingly becoming.

A very clever ice golfer is Miss Amy Bend, the very blond, baby-faced young woman, in her second or third season, who is reported engaged to Mr. Willie K. Vanderbilt.  Miss Bend golfs in the Shelbourne Farms house parties and at the many country places where she is a guest this winter.

Mrs. Ogden Mills and Mrs. Burke-Roche, both of which beautiful matrons are the mothers of twins, skate a great deal, with their children with them. Mrs. Burke-Roche, with her two sturdy boys, and Mrs. Mills, with her pretty little girls, can be seen skating every pleasant day. Their favorite spot is a club ground in New York City, upon which there will soon be built a set of golf links.

The Western young women who own large country places, like Miss Florence Pullman, have a way of their own in planning links.

A short time ago a professional golf linker who was engaged to lay out links at Lenox visited Miss Pullman’s country place in the West to get ideas from her. Her course is a very pretty one, and differs from others in having the tee holes situated in the prettiest portions of the ground. This is contrary to rule, as beauty of scenery is supposed to detract too much from one’s interest at the teeing time. If Miss Pullman follows the new winter golf fad, and has links upon the ice, she will doubtless invent a new way of making the golf links novel.

There is a certain young heiress in this country. She is a Western girl, though cosmopolitan, having lived all over the world, and she is original in taste. A short time ago, when the lake upon her country place where she went for the December holiday began to freeze, she began lamenting that she could not play golf on ice. “I hear they are doing it at Fifi’s country place,” said she, mentioning the nickname of a girl well known in society, and I don’t see why I can’t do the same.”

An Heiress’ Dream
Straightway she had her landscape gardeners set to work to make a golf link upon the ice. The lake was a smooth, round sheet, and the course was to lay around it. The first obstacle planned was a mound of ice. This was made by packing snow upon the crust of the ice and pouring water upon it. The next obstacle was a miniature falls, with icebergs and icicles. This the gardener had his men make by pouring water slowly down upon the ice letting it freeze in midair as it would. After many tubs of water had been poured, the ice took on the appearance of a frozen falls.

In playing golf upon the ice, where obstacles have been placed, the skill of the player is taxed to strike the ball just hard enough to lift it over the obstacle. He then skates around it and finds his ball upon the other side. This would be simple enough if he were sure of lifting the ball over the obstruction. But he can only “loft” with his full strength and then skate around. He not wait or the ball will have gone a mile ahead of him over the frozen surface, and a hundred feet past the tee, which is just the other side of the obstacle.

There will have to be a new code of golf instructions written for those who golf upon the ice, because the summer golfing is different in everything but principle. But that will soon be done, as several young men who have fallen in love with the sport are at work upon it. HARRY GERMAINE.”

​                                                    A Surreptitious Christening
The centuries-old tradition of christening a ship with champagne or similar liquid was carried on by Thomas S. Marvel at his shipyard in Newburgh - or at least it was until Saturday morning, March 31, 1906, when the magnificent steamer Hendrick Hudson was launched for the Hudson River Day Line. Thomas S. Marvel would not launch a vessel, no matter how small, without this ritual - nor would he willingly launch any hull on a Friday.
 
Eben Erskine Olcott (“E.E.”), the President of the Day Line, was a strict teetotaler, and he decreed that the new steamer would be christened with a bottle of Catskill Mountain spring water. It might have been a fitting ritual for a Hudson River steamboat, but not quite what Captain Marvel had in mind. On the day of the launching, the sponsor, Miss Katherine Olcott, E.E.’s five-year-old daughter, and the invited guests stood upon the sponsor’s platform. There were assembled Miss Olcott, her mother and father, other members of the Olcott family and many dignitaries. Among the latter were S.D. Coykendall, President of the Cornell Steamboat Company and Stevenson Taylor, then Vice President of the W. & A. Fletcher Company (the prime contractor for Hendrick Hudson and builder of her engine and boilers) and later President of the American Bureau of Shipping.
 
At the first movement of the slender, red lead-painted hull, Miss Olcott broke the bottle of spring water over her stern, proclaiming, “I christen thee Hendrick Hudson.” And in that manner the new steamer was well and truly baptized, or so it appeared from the vantage point of the sponsor’s party. However, the bottle of spring water, ornamented with white ribbon and sterling silver, and suspended by a white cord, was not the only christening fluid used that day, nor was Katherine Olcott the only sponsor.
 
Eschewing his rightful position among the dignitaries on the platform, Thomas S. Marvel attended to a much more important task. He dispatched one of the yard workers to a nearby saloon on South William Street for a bottle of champagne. Upon the messenger’s return with the flask of the best French bubbly, the seventy-two year-old shipbuilder took up a position far aft and well out of sight of the devoutly dry Olcotts. When the massive hull began to move, he christened the vessel in a manner more appropriate to shipbuilding-but with no festive ribbons, no formality, simply a shower of champagne and broken glass that would assure good fortune for the new Day Line flagship. Thomas Marvel retreated quickly to safe ground once his task was completed. The Marvel family claimed that his escape from the massive oncoming structure was perilously close.
 
E.E. Olcott apparently never knew of the second christening, but Hendrick Hudson, her good fortune assured, went on to a successful forty-five year life on the river.

Editor's Note: This account is from the February 23, 1879 New York Times. The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

"A Winter Ramble Over The Surface of the Hudson – Fishing Through The Ice – A Trap for Ice-Yachts – Trying Speed With Thought – Looking Down Upon A Winter Scene
Walking on the surface of the deep is no miracle in our climate. But the experience is quite rare enough to make a vivid impression, especially on those who tread habitually the dull sidewalks of a city. For the mind is haunted by at least a feeling of the miraculous as you walk over a great lake or river. The elements seem to have forgotten their laws, and the whole face of nature is weird when her gleaming eyes turn glassy. This unusual view of nature drew me to visit the Winter scenes on the Hudson. I purposed on this Winter walk to go from Poughkeepsie to Newburg on the ice, through the region renowned for ice-boating; where they hold tournaments for lady skaters; where they trot horses when they cannot row regattas; and where Winter life on the ice may seen in its perfection. I started by skating, and I rested from this by sailing, and walking part of the time, for I have a friend on the way who is a famous iceboat skipper; and we skipped about the river with the speed of the wind. I can scarcely call the trip a walk; for I traveled neither all by water nor by land, nor yet as the fowls of the air. But, however I went, the excursion was delightful with scenes and experiences characteristic of the Winter life of the Hudson.

As I left the dock at Poughkeepsie and skated out over the river, a thrill – almost a shiver – ran through me as I thought of the depths. But a few inches below my feet. Of course, one is not afraid on ice nearly a foot thick, but this unusual relation to deep wide water is unavoidably startling. You say to yourself there is no danger, but you feel to yourself, this is all very queer. The first minutes of my trip were therefore a little chaotic, with the confidence born of other people’s opinions, yet, with my own secret questioning about the ice all the way down my long route. But the exhilaration of the keen Winter morning soon bore away every other feeling. The thermometer marked only 15 degrees; a light west wind blew down over the hills of Ulster County, and the clear air and sunlight made the most distant scenes appear like faultless miniatures. I looked down the river 20 miles, over my whole route. The river near by was a narrow level valley between high banks of bare trees. The hills over-topping the banks were also brown and bare, excepting here and there a patch of snow or a knoll crowned with cedars that added deep shadows to the sober face of nature. The level valley of ice ran straight away to the distance between dark wooded headlands projecting one behind another, and marking in clear perspective the long vista of the river. The valley seemed to end at the foot of the Highlands, which over-topped the whole scene with their majestic heads, now gray with snow under a bare forest. This long level of ice was generally smooth, excepting here and there, a low wandering ridge of projecting edges and cakes at cracks; and the shores were marked by a tide.

Groups of men and boys were seen down the valley, even far off, and a few ice-boats were moving about at Milton, four miles below, and at New-Hamburg, 10 miles off. The mirage was very strong this clear morning, so the boats appeared double, as if one ran on the ice and other under it. The new ice was a curious record of nature in a warm and lenient hour. Jack Frost seemed a tell-tale of his freaks. He had pressed her white flowers; he had preserved her little landscapes modeled in the ice of rivulet, gorge, and bluff; he had caught the wind playing with the ripples and locked them fast, and he had painted the clouds and scattered crystals for the stars.

I soon reached Blue Point, where some fishermen were taking up their nets, and a few boys were grouped about them. Two men at each end of a narrow trench cut through the ice, and hauled up a line. These lines at last brought up a net 12 feet square, with a pole across the bottom, weighted with a stone at each end. The nets are lowered her about 50 feet, or half way to the bottom, and 10 to 20 of them are put down in a row across the current, over a reef or rocky point. The upper ends of the lines are tied to sticks that lie across the open trench, or stand up in the ice. The nets swing off under the ice, by the pressure of the current, and fill out like open bags. Catfish run into them, and are kept there by the current until slack water enables them to leave; but perch and bass are caught by the gills in the two-and-a-quarter-inch meshes. When the nets had all been lifted and put down again, the men picked up the few perch   and young sturgeons, frozen as stiff as sticks, and walked to the shore. There they had a flat-boat decked over for a house. Bunks, stove, and various fishing-tackle filled the little cabin with a chaotic mass. They will launch their boat when the ice leaves, and float up or down then river as inclination may direct. In good seasons this ice-fishing yields often 50 pounds of fish at a lift, the men make about $10 per day with 20 nets. This year the fishing here is very poor, for the great freshet of the Fall carried the bass down to Haverstraw Bay.
​
I left the fishermen of Blue Point, and skated down the opposite shore. The bluffs along the railroad cuts were hung with great icicles, some of them 8 or 10 feet long. Every projecting ledge of some cliffs, from top to bottom, was decked with these splendid crystals, flashing in the sunlight. And at their feet, the twigs and rocks were covered with round forms of quaint shapes. While I stood there the rails began to ring faintly, but clearly as a bell, in the frosty air. The sounds beat in quick pulsations, grew to a rumbling, then to an increasing roar, and in a moment an express train came around the point at a thundering pace. All the stillness and peace of the morning vanished as before the blast of war. It passed in an instant; the roaring fled; the rails rang again with a clear, pure music, softer, and fainter still, and then the Winter silence came once more over the valley of ice. The solemn repose of the great river was then unbroken. For even its mutterings were solemn, when the ice cracked under my feet with a loud report, and the sound darted away in quick, erratic angles to the bluff, and still rumbled on in persistent gloom. The falls at the Pin Factor were a scene of prettier details. The rocks were covered with pillowy masses of whitish ice, and the clear water came down in zig-zag courses, now over these pillows, now under ice caverns built over rocks. The steep descent of the stream was guarded by rustic balustrades of roots and branches, all covered with ice, and the whole was partly veiled by some bare elms, bushes, and dark cedars. A nearer view of the ice showed it to be a bank of crystal flowers, gleaming faintly with prismatic hues in the sunshine. The water ran all over it in little rivulets perfectly free from earthly stain. The dim caves were the most poetic objects; they had neither a ray of sunshine nor a line of shadow within them; yet their sculptured walls were exquisitely shaded with the softest, clearest lights, and the arch in front was hung with crystals of brilliant colors. The whole fall was full of magic, the faint Winter music of the stream, the exquisite delicacy of forms petrified as in death, and the strangeness of objects that transmit light instead of casting shadows. The only witness of the scene is an old mill with a crumbling wheel that once turned round to the music of the brook.  Now when the moonlight shines on his tottering form on the falls in the magic of Winter, and on the wide river groaning in his bed, the scene must be still more weird, if not more beautiful.

I went on to Milton, and there found my friend and his ice-boat ready for a cruise further down the river. I put on a few suits of clothes, woolen socks, arctics and mittens; then we embarked, and glided away toward New Hamburg. Other boats were skimming over the ice, and we exchanged many social greetings, if that term can be applied to salutations that begin and end at opposite points of the horizon. I dream of flying when I hold the tiller of an ice-boat, and find myself flitting about the earth, and reaching a place almost as soon as my thought of it. We flew about the Hudson for an hour or more, here turning to visit this point or that, there pausing in our flight to enjoy the excitement of another start, or to touch the social scenes and incidents of this Winter life. At a place near Milton we were admiring a large boat coming from the distance at great speed. Suddenly she stopped. As something was evidently the matter, we ran down there, and found her fast in a hollow that had been filled with water and then skimmed with thin ice. These hollows form by the expansion of the ice. The expansion across the river drives the ice up the shore, so that no cracks form up and down the stream. But the still greater expansion of the long stretches of ice up and down the river find no such room as the shores. The ice, therefore, doubles up, or buckles. It thus either throws up a low ridge, or else forms a hollow, on each side of the cracks running across the stream. The ridge does not interfere much with travel until one side of it drops down and makes a step or fault. But the hollow fills with water, sometimes several feet deep; and at last the tide catches one side of the inclined cakes or sides of the hollow, doubles it under, and carries it away. These clear, open cracks, from 10 to 20 feet wide, are slow to freeze, and generally offer the most dangerous places on the ice. They may form at any time, even in cold weather; so that constant attention and good light are required in raveling up or down the river. But, to return to the stranded ice-boat. She had a good breeze, and had come to this hollow too suddenly to avoid it. If the new ice had been a little stronger, or else narrower, it might have held her up till her forward runners had reached the old ice on the further side of the hollow, and the high wind, with her momentum, would have drive her through. This she would have “jumped a crack,” as the phrase goes; instead of this she “broke through,” as another phrase goes, and her passengers and crew were there surrounded by broken thin ice over a hollow of water in a depression of old ice. Now, we were interested chiefly in the passengers, for they were two very pretty girls, who explained with much animation and distinctness that they would like to get out of that situation. They appeared very well in the midst of rich furs and robes, but for once this advantage was ignored. So we had all the pleasure of their unnecessary distress, and finally landed them, still warm and dry, on the old ice. Then the boat was rescued, and amid many thanks on one side and some merry advice on the other, both parties darted away on the wind. We were afterward favored with pretty salutations from them, too literally en passant, yet too long drawn out for any comfort. Afterward, the same hollow entrapped a second boat; but this had only men aboard and we let them scramble out by themselves.  A third boat came up to see what was the matter, and also ran into the trap. Then a fourth came up with a gust of wind, and ran her port runner and the rudder in before she could be rounded to. The water flew, the ice rattled; and it came so suddenly that the whole crew jumped off in a fright. But the whole crew was only one man, and the helmsman stuck to his tiller and brought her out to clear sailing again.

​At Marlboro we found a crowd of skaters and sliders, collected to witness a horse-race on the ice. They all seemed to be animated with red, red noses. For the wind was keen, and they had to keep in constant motion. Some rosy girls and boys, with scarlet mittens and comforters, were skating hand in hand along the retired nooks of the shores. And some of the farmers from the hills were speeding their horses up and down the straight track on the ice. The village looked down on the scene from the head of its picturesque ravine. Northward, the river stretched away between its bold banks to Poughkeepsie, throwing up a cloud of thin smoke on the Western wind. Southward, the valley of ice ran between still bolder heads of dark cedars, along the sweeps of Low Point, past Newburg, and down to the foot of the Highlands. The gray heads of the mountains were nearer and grander now than when I first saw them from up the river. As the afternoon was passing away, we had to turn our backs on the swarms of boys and men at the horse-race, wave a last farewell to our pretty acquaintances on the ice-boat, and stand away southward. We flew along with a stiff breeze past New-Hamburg, the bold hills at Hampton, and on to other picturesque points. Cracks in the ice here and there made us turn in and out, and flit about with the quick motions of a bird. At last I had to give up the tiller, at the Dantz Kammer Point, shed my various suits down to a walking load, and bid the skipper good by as he flew away up the river.

But, after all, give me the sober earth for better or for worse. I enjoyed again the firmness of a good hard road, and the steadfast reality of a good walk down to Newburg. The road gradually mounts the high bank of the river among an army of cedars storming the height, and some farm-houses and orchards in their Winter reserve. At the top of the hill, near Balmville, you look back up the river and over the plains of Dutchess County. Southward the view includes the rolling hills about Newburg and Fishkill, the spires of these pretty towns, and the broad bay between them. The valley of ice contracts there to enter the magnificent gorge of the Highlands, and then disappears behind the shoulders of the mountains. These majestic spirits of the Winter scene are now still grander as you near their feet and gaze at their hoary, silent crowns. The suburbs of Newburg were quite cheerful. Carriages, with spirited horses, and with rosy faces above rich robes, dashed along the roads, and here and there a cozy home-scene shone out of window among  evergreens. The town, too, was alive with teams and people from the surrounding country. Winter vigor and high spirits pervaded both man and beast. And I was kin enough to each to share in their joy for the keen Winter day. C.H. F."