​The bateau is retired.
   
The bateau returned to the Albany area and was used for a series of river outings and day trips. She survived several floods including one in which a dead tree was carried onto her, temporarily preventing her from floating. But as the kids who helped build her left the area for college or other endeavors, Sturgeon was no longer being used. The grey and weathered boat needed a new home.

Six years after our Hudson River trip, the manager of a historic site in the Mohawk Valley reached out to me about using the boat to interpret eighteenth century bateau travel. The site manager borrowed a beat-up diesel flat bed to carry the bateau to her new home. The truck was delayed by a flat tire. When it arrived, we discovered that a leak in the hydraulic system prevented the bed from tilting or the winch from operating.

​The bateau was still on the shore of the Vlomanskill on a site with no road access. She would have to be dragged across a muddy field, under an overhead sewer main, and through a gap in a strings of bee hives to reach the truck. We placed the boat on her bottom, led a chain from an old pick-up truck to the wrought iron ring in the bow and told the pick-up driver to keep going no matter what. Two men got on each side of the boat to help “steer” and push. The ironwork in the bow held and the bateau plowed through the mud and sod on her way to the road.

​An amateur historian driving by paused as we were struggling to get the muddy boat up onto the truck bed. He took the license plate number and subsequently called archaeologists at New York State to report the theft of a sunken eighteenth century boat. Frantically, he shouted “they’re getting away with it.” The weathered and mud-caked boat had finally aged and weathered enough to look like the French and Indian War prototypes she was inspired by. 

Thank you for joining us as we traveled along with Muddy Paddle on his bateau adventure! 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!​

Sailing down the Tappan Zee.
 
The morning was overcast and cool. I got up early and shaped and installed a new tiller for the sailboat with the help of our host and his well-equipped shop. The older boys arrived in time for a breakfast of cold cereal and hot cocoa. We made lunches on a picnic table assembly line and provisioned each boat with sandwiches and three gallons of Tang.
 
We sailed south with the wind and tide at 9:00 AM. The canoe took an early lead into Haverstraw Bay, the crew supplementing the sail with vigorous paddling. As we entered the broad Tappan Zee with even better wind, the bateau made up most of that ground due to her larger sail. The boats were close together when sailing beneath the Tappan Zee bridge. We stopped at the end of the Erie Pier in Piermont for lunch. After this rest, we continued south and drifted over to the east shore to find our overnight destination in an old canoe club on the Yonkers waterfront. The clubhouse was built in 1938 and still had large barn doors for taking war canoes out for races and excursions. By itself, the clubhouse would be difficult to identify against the backdrop of Yonkers’ urban waterfront. However, there was a very distinctive chimney or tower with an encircling gallery near its top that rises high above the cityscape nearby that served as a convenient landmark.
 
After resting, we made plans to conclude our trip. Some of the boys wanted to see a Yankees game the next day. Others, including Garth’s sister Gretchen, wanted to paddle to the Statue of Liberty. We sorted all of this out and decided that the war canoe and the sailboat would go on to take the victory lap at the Statue, concluding the final leg of the trip at Liberty State Park in Jersey City. The bateau was no longer needed, so we hauled her out that afternoon in Yonkers and sent her home on a snowmobile trailer with old red shirts nailed to her overhanging stern. We ordered pizza and went out to see a movie.

Saluting the Statue of Liberty
 
In the morning, we bought groceries for breakfast and lunch and got the two boats ready for the final leg. It was warm and steamy. All extra gear was removed to lighten the boats. The sprint crews left with the tide at 9:00 AM. The boats passed beneath the George Washington Bridge a few hours later and reached the Statue of Liberty a little before 2:00 PM. The crew of the canoe unfurled a large American flag and raised it on the mast as they sailed by. The two boats braved a rough chop to reach the ramp at the south end of the park a few minutes later.

​The final 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!​

Amidst islands and mountains.
 
It was a warm and misty morning. The mist seemed to amplify the sound of the Amtrak and Metro North trains braking at the station and starting up on their runs into and out of the City. Everyone was glad to go outdoors and breathe fresh air after a night of smelling the composting toilet. We cooked a hot breakfast outdoors on our new camp stove. I noticed that someone had installed a voluptuous figurehead on the bateau’s bow. Apparently, a Barbie doll washed up on the shore overnight and was repurposed as nautical decoration on the Sturgeon’s stem. I’m pretty sure that it was the work of Muddy Jr.
 
As promised, we dug out the toilet and filled it with fresh cedar chips. We cleaned up the clubhouse and placed the sloop model back on the table. The tide was a little earlier than anticipated so we got started at 8:30 AM.
 
From the north, Pollepel Island appears almost like a cork in the neck of a bottle at the northern entrance to the Hudson Highlands. It is the gateway to the flawed and gusty winds of the Worragut, or “wind gate” that passes beneath Storm King Mountain. The island was long thought to be inhabited by dark spirits. Sailors would tip their hats here when entering the Highlands in the hopes of making safe passages. Nevertheless, terrible accidents occurred along this stretch of the river, including a sloop capsizing in 1824, drowning 35, and the beheading of the man at the tiller of another sloop after his neck became entangled in the main sheet while jibing. I managed to make sure that the crew was thoroughly spooked in advance of our approach to this foreboding passage through the mountains.
 
In 1777, Pollepel Island was considered central to the American defense of the Hudson River. A string of Chevaux de Frise, rock-filled cribs with iron-tipped spikes, were laid on the river bottom from the Island to Plum Point in order to obstruct British warships. The spikes failed and the British passed these defenses to burn Kingston and Livingston estate of Clermont later in the year. Many of the de-fanged cribs remain on the river bottom here, a testament to the struggle to defend the Hudson.  More than a century later, arms merchant Francis Bannerman relocated his business to the island and built a castle-like armory and residence here between 1901 and 1918. Many now refer to Pollepel Island as Bannerman’s Island. Several fires and an explosion gutted the armory, leaving it a picturesque but ominous ruin.  
 
We reached the island about an hour after our departure from Beacon. The wooden boats were beached in a shallow cove on its east side. The canoe went back to get everyone off the sailboat which had to anchor in deeper water.

The island and its turreted ruins were completely neglected and undeveloped when we landed and everything was covered with grapevines and poison ivy. One had to pick a route into the ruins of the arsenal very carefully to avoid the worst of it. We made our way to the castle keep as a group and we went inside the “Moat Lodge,” a subterranean chamber near the gated entrance to arsenal. This room had survived the fires and explosion that gutted the armory and it still retained its plaster walls and Baroque fireplace and mantel. It was pretty thrilling for the kids on this trip. We found recently used candles on the mantel and indecipherable but finely formed letters and symbols inscribed at the top of the walls. Some of the kids wondered aloud if this place was currently in use for satanic rituals or witchcraft.
 
We went back into the sunlight and explored the rest of the armory and the site of Bannerman’s house. Half an hour or so after our arrival, I gathered everyone up to head back to the boats. A bunch of the kids insisted on going back to the Moat Lodge for a final look. As the rest of us began picking our way back to the landing, I heard blood curdling screaming from underground and turned to see terrified kids scrambling out of the hole. They screamed, cried and bushwhacked right through the poison ivy; often tripping, but following an absolutely straight line for the boats. I thought that perhaps they had found a yellow jacket nest. I was mistaken. One straggler told me that witches were hidden on the island and observing us. They had placed masks on the mantle to re-consecrate the Moat Lodge after our initial visit. I went back to investigate. Sure enough, I found seven grotesque papier-mâché death masks on the mantle. They were definitely not there when we first visited the chamber. The other boys were crying to get away from the island right away. Muddy Paddle Jr. unusually quiet. His many artistic projects in our household included making papier-mâché masks for Halloween. I looked at him briefly but said absolutely nothing. Naturally, the mocking masks stayed behind. The prank was never revealed.
 
We continued south past Storm King Mountain and reached Cold Spring at noon. It was shaping up to be a hot afternoon. Several tour boats including the historic Commander passed by us and expressed interest in our flotilla. We pulled past West Point itself at 12:30, ate lunch in the boats and continued south against a light breeze. We saw Dunderberg Mountain, the mythic lair of the goblin controlling the Highlands, rising high above an island on the west shore. At 2:30, we found a small beach at the island where we all went ashore for a much needed rest. Iona Island is infused with enough myths and urban legends to give even the most rational among us some foreboding. For 50 years and through both World Wars the remote island served as a naval munitions depot. Its remote location helped to insure against widespread casualties and destruction in the event of an explosion. At the time of our arrival, it had been abandoned to a herd of deer. The older kids asked to camp here overnight, so we rearranged crew assignments in the boats and left them with the war canoe, drinking water and a camp stove. The island is now a protected habitat and no longer open to visitors or campers.
 
The bateau and the sailboat departed, pulled into the Horse Race, rounded Jones Point and faced a stiff wind and chop from the south.  Making progress across Haverstraw Bay became wet and excruciating for the rowers in the bateau, particularly without the muscle of the older boys. Mischief is ever-present in the lee of the Dunderberg and so it was that the sailboat’s tiller broke off here, nearly leading to a capsize. The boat abruptly rounded-up and was hit by a steep wave soaking the kids in the bow. The crew hauled down the sails, started the motor and figured out how to steer with a paddle. We struggled to cross Haverstraw Bay to reach Verplank where we had made arrangements to camp at a boatyard that had hosted us on previous trips. We finally arrived at 4:00 PM and the rowers left the bateau unpacked while they collapsed on the grass in the shade of a rusty old crane.
 
We had pasta for dinner at Verplank, told stories around a citronella candle and turned in early. The primitive campers on Iona Island explored the grasslands and climbed the flat-topped monolith at the south end. Dinner consisted of soup and cicadas. After gathering a quart of exhausted cicadas, the kids plucked their wings off and sautéed them in a skillet with wild onions. They tasted like almonds and had the texture of popcorn.
 
On a previous trip, a large, inscribed iron ring was discovered at the top of the monolith. When it was disturbed by the boys and taken to the campsite, a frightful thunderstorm descended, with rapid lightning and furious winds. The storm knocked down and rolled up several tents and capsized the war canoe. When it was over, the question of returning the ring to ensure safe passage was earnestly discussed. It was returned and the mercurial Dunderberg goblin was appeased. This and other stories were told until late into the evening. Nothing was done to offend the spirit of the mountain this time and the campers passed the evening restlessly but without incident.

​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!​

Visiting Pete Seeger’s place.
 
It was sunny and mild at sunrise. Our camp stove valves were missing so we had to settle for cold cereal, Tang and doughnuts for breakfast. After breaking down the tents and packing up, we hit high tide perfectly again.  At 9:00 AM the bateau pulled out into the river with the other boats. The wind picked up and all three boats quickly reached Crum Elbow, FDR’s stretch of the river, under sail and with the assist of a strong ebb tide. From here, the river runs straight down the Lange Rack, long reach, for ten miles, past Poughkeepsie to Clinton Point. The wind was directly astern here and the boats made a long and exhilarating run without any effort.
 
Cliffs define the west shore of the river above Poughkeepsie. They are colorfully painted with the letters and symbols of some of the colleges that have traditionally competed in rowing here. Competitive rowing requires unity of command and a high degree of teamwork. Although the boats making this journey were far different and much more forgiving, the same principles were being learned and applied. The kids were complaining less and taking real pride in successfully completing each leg of the journey.
 
We reached the two bridges at Poughkeepsie just before noon and ate lunch on the fly around Blue Point. There had been consideration of landing for a rest at a beach and rock outcropping at Van Keurens, but the wind and tide were too good to waste. The Sturgeon led the pack coming into Beacon at 3:15.
 
We had arranged to stay at the Beacon Sloop Club for the evening. The building was identified from the river by a large pine tree that rose out of and high above the roof near the rotting ruins of the Newburgh-Beacon ferry slip. The boats were tied up at the Sloop Club docks and Pete Seeger welcomed us and unlocked the clubhouse for us. We asked Pete what we could do to help at the club. He asked us to clean out the composting toilet and fill it with sawdust in the morning. The composting toilet was situated level with the roof. Stairs led to the entrance door which featured a ventilation hole cut to resemble the traditional crescent moon. The elevated outhouse sure didn’t smell very sweet, but we were grateful to have a roof over our heads for the evening.
 
We moved a few tables around to create room for our sleeping bags including one with a model of the club’s sloop Woody Guthrie on it. The ferry sloop herself lay at anchor nearby and from a distance looked a lot like her big sister Clearwater.
 
I wish I could report that Pete came back in the evening with his banjo for a sing-along, but it didn’t happen on this trip.
 
A few of us took the sailboat out for a spin in Newburgh Bay around dinnertime. Even with the scars from urban renewal, Newburgh was a compelling sight from the river at this time of day with the broad expanse of water in front of the city. We returned in time for a hearty dinner brought in by friends. We had a restless night in our urban environment listening to the trains coming into the nearby station, sirens in town and laboring tows pushing up the river.

​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: 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. ​

Day of the cicadas.
 
We departed Saugerties at high tide a little after 9:00 AM after cleaning and locking up the lighthouse. It was hazy and mild and the river was calm. Several big petroleum barges created wakes, but the bateau’s bottom had fully absorbed water and served as a very stable platform.
 
The cicadas were deafening today. Millions were attempting to fly across the river but thousands failed, dropping into the water exhausted. A dozen or more landed in our boat, fascinating the crew. Garth asked if they were edible. I replied yes, but that they would go down better without the wings. No one was ready to accept the invitation….yet.
 
Muddy Paddle Jr. found a dead bass floating upside down in the river just ahead of us. He was in the bow and used a spare paddle to flip the rotting hulk into the middle of the boat where it began a stink that revolted everyone. The rowing abruptly stopped as crew members tried to get away from the carcass and the flies that immediately discovered it. The other boys were not amused and didn’t see any humor in this smelly scene. I used our bailing scoop to try to gather up the rotted fish and swing it overboard, but it broke into pieces, many of which landed on personal gear and food bags. After violently gagging, I got all of it out of the boat and flushed the site generously with river water. Nevertheless, the sharp stink hung around along with a cloud of flies for the remainder of the day. It goes without saying that Jr. was not very popular. When lunch came around, his sandwich was the only one that was flattened and soggy.
 
A breeze picked up out of the north and the Sturgeon shipped her oars and set her sail. As we approached the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge, a Dutch-styled sloop with leeboards came out from the cove behind Astor Point to meet us. Named Skillypot, the Dutch term for turtle, she sailed with us for a few minutes. Her skipper, Roger, built her at Rokeby in the previous year and like our boat, she was oiled with pine tar and linseed oil. Roger made his home aboard the boat. Her maneuverability was very impressive. After sailing several circles around us, Roger and his friend wished us well, hauled their sheets and returned to Barrytown on the eastern shore.
 
The wind shifted to the northwest and we had drifted too far toward the east to clear Sturgeon Point on our way to Mills-Norrie State Park in Staatsburgh. We hauled down our sail, broke out the oars and pulled toward Kingston, still aided by the ebb tide. Once closer to the west shore, we again shipped the oars and set the sail. The wind had strengthened and our heavy bateau responded sluggishly. The halyard block lashings at the masthead failed and the yard and sail flew forward. We unstepped the mast, cut a length of line, and tied it back in place with a very un-nautical knot. Raised back into place, the sail was set once again and the bateau picked up speed. As the Esopus Meadows lighthouse neared, the whole rig went overboard in a strong gust. The mast step at the bottom of the boat had fractured. The mast, spar and sail were gathered up and we relied on the oars to take us into the park marina. We arrived at about 3:00 PM, about half an hour after the war canoe. The boys set up tents while I made makeshift repairs to the mast step. We later learned that Roger’s Skillypot sank at her berth that afternoon when one of her shell planks squeezed out of position. She was raised and repaired, but some of his personal effects were destroyed.
 
We had a cool and comfortable night for sleeping. We were excited about meeting Pete Seeger in Beacon tomorrow.

​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!​

The flotilla is formed.
 
This morning, the bateau was joined by a 26-foot strip-planked war canoe and an 18-foot sailboat. All of the participants were ready and packed.
 
The Sturgeon and her consorts left Coxsackie a little after 9:00 AM at high tide, ensuring the advantage of the ebb tide for six hours or so. This was an essential consideration. If a boat departs on a high tide and covers 25 or 30 miles south, it will again have a high tide at the same time the next day even though that tide will reach the original point of departure about an hour later. This makes a big difference in planning a southbound rowing or paddling trip. Rowing or paddling against an adverse tide is possible, but it is exhausting as we found out later in the day. I had seven teenage boys and one very young brother with me for this leg of the trip.
 
The weather was fair and cool in the morning and although a few new rowers ”caught crabs” in the beginning, the flotilla made good progress south. Gradually, a breeze came up from the south and set up a chop which slowed all of the boats down. At Athens, we followed the more direct but shallower west channel toward Catskill. We passed beneath the Rip Van Winkle Bridge with its little Dutch bridge keeper’s house and immediately felt more wind.  We took a shore break at Dutchman’s Park in Catskill where we ate our picnic lunches supplemented by a few food truck selections. The fries were an unfortunate choice for crew members who felt logy after lunch. I warned everyone not to try napping. Rip Van Winkle would see to it himself that they would not wake up for 20 years. Nevertheless, it was difficult to motivate everyone to return to the bateau. A light rain further discouraged some of the crew members.
 
The rain didn’t last but the adverse wind increased. It took us two hours to reach the huge silos at Cementon (now Smith’s Landing) and morale was flagging. Matt, the young brother, was green from too many French fries and a touch of seasickness. Unluckily, his hat blew overboard and superstition dictated that we return to retrieve it. Fortunately, we got to it just as it was about to sink, but the river gods were unimpressed. As if on cue, the tide turned at 3:30 led by a detectable tidal bore. Now we had our work cut out for us. Fortunately, the wind died down. We heard the roar of millions of cicadas on shore.
 
We arrived at the Saugerties Lighthouse at 5:00 PM where we had made arrangements to stay overnight. The 1869 lighthouse had recently been stabilized, but unlike today, no creature comforts had yet been provided. There was a jar in the foyer where cash contributions could be deposited. The boys were particularly fascinated with the grills in the second story floor intended to distribute stove heat upstairs. They began dropping small things through the holes onto the boys sleeping below and it was a while before everyone settled down. It rained overnight and I for one was grateful to be in a dry building.

​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!​

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!​

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.
 
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