 Giving Tuesday is coming up next week, so for today's Media Monday post, we thought we would share our newly released trailer for the forthcoming film, "Seven Sentinels: Lighthouses of the Hudson River!" After a summer of recording footage and interviews for all of the seven remaining Hudson River lighthouses, we're going to spend the winter reviewing footage, editing, and starting to put together the film, with a planned release date of July, 2022. We are so excited for this project, but we can't do it without your help. For that reason, we've launched a crowdfunding campaign in hopes that those of you who love lighthouses as much as we do will help us tell their stories. Watch the trailer below for a taste of what's to come! Our crowdfunding campaign runs for the next two months. In that time, you'll be seeing more lighthouse content here on the blog as we share some of our coolest finds. Keep your eyes peeled for another sneak peak trailer, too! If you'd like to donate, we have some great perks. Click the button below and help us reach our goal of making it to the $5,000 mark by Thanksgiving! If you or your business would like to become a sponsor of the films or other film projects, please contact Sarah Wassberg Johnson at swassberg@hrmm.org. We're also doing a daily countdown to Giving Tuesday starting tomorrow on our Facebook page and Instagram account. Click the links and follow us to make sure you don't miss the updates. We'll leave you with a few behind-the-scenes photos from some of our trips this past summer. Thanks for your support!
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 Aerial footage of the Saugerties Lighthouse before restoration. Still from "Hudson River Lighthouse" report from ABC News, c. 1980. When this ABC news special first aired in the 1980s, the few remaining Hudson River Lighthouses were in rough shape. Some, like the Saugerties lighthouse, were even in danger of collapsing. Thankfully, local governments and volunteer organizations stepped up to save them from total destruction. This video, hosted by ABC News reporter Roger Caras, features the Rondout Lighthouse and Hudson-Athens Lighthouse, with interviews with Elise Barry, who wrote the National Register nomination for all seven lighthouses, and Emily Brunner, daughter of Hudson-Athens keeper Emil Brunner. You can visit almost all the Hudson River Lighthouses today! For more information visit www.hudsonriverlighthouses.org. Tours of the Rondout and Esopus Meadows Lighthouses are available on our 100% solar-powered tour boat Solaris! Get tickets here. Do you have a favorite Hudson River lighthouse? Share in the comments! If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Today's Media Monday features a recent lecture at the Hudson River Maritime Museum - "Keepers of the Light: Women Lighthouse Keepers of the Hudson," given by Sarah Wassberg Johnson, Director of Exhibits & Outreach at the museum. For upcoming lectures, visit our Lecture Series page! If you'd like to learn more about Hudson River Lighthouses, visit our lighthouse website, or purchase the book, Hudson River Lighthouses, published by the Hudson River Maritime Museum! Hudson River Lighthouses Book
$21.99
Only a few left! Discover the intriguing history of Upstate NY lighthouses with this handsome and beautifully-illustrated volume. Written by Hudson River Maritime Museum staff, and published as part of the Images of America series, Hudson River Lighthouses contains rare photos from our museum archive. This item ships USPS Priority Flat Rate mail. Shipping available in U.S. only. Pickup on site available M-F, 10 AM to 5 PM free of charge. Wait for confirmation email then call 845-338-0071 ext. 10 upon arrival for curbside pickup. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published July 2, 1972.  The home Captain Benson grew up in is the small house In the middle. Photo courtesy of the David W. Longendyke Collection When I was a boy of 10 in 1921, my brother Algot was home over the Fourth of July. At that time, he was chief mate on the steamboat “Onteora” - and brought with him about $10 worth of fireworks, which before these present days of inflation was a lot of fireworks! They were all in the big box sitting out on our porch. For the fun of it, he threw a very small firecracker under me as I was leaning over. When it went bang, I jumped up real quick and everybody laughed. Not to be outdone, I threw a firecracker at him. Instead of going off, it sizzled and scooted across the porch right into the box of fireworks. How everybody ran for cover when the whole box went up - night works, roman candles, torpedoes, salutes, sparklers, everything! The glorious explosion was all over in about three minutes. Was my mother angry at me for doing such a thing to my brother and for causing all the fireworks to explode! But my brother was good about it all. He laughed and said, “Come on Bill, let’s go down along the shore.” I was crying by now, thinking I would be all day without any firecrackers. On the Strand Algot took me and our rowboat and rowed over to the Strand and bought $10 more of fireworks - and gave them to me. He sure was a wonderful brother to me. I shall never forget him, even though I was only 11 years of age when he died the following year. Also at that time, on Sundays and holidays I remember going out to Kingston Point with my father. We would watch all the people and the big boats come and go and unload and load their passengers. Phil Maines, former mate of the “Mary Powell,” was dockmaster. Phil always saw to it that we got inside the gates where there were no people and could get a good view of the boats coming in and going out. Jim Murdock was the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse at the time, and he also would be over there. I can still remember how he would be dressed. He always wore a straw boater hat, a light gray suit, a red tie and black patent leather shoes with white laces. Always, his hat stayed high on the back of his head, seemingly because he has so much hair. I remember one day the mate of the steamer “Washington Irving,” Thurlow Davis of Kingston, was going to push Jim Murdock out of the private gangway into the crowded one. “Just a minute there, I am the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse,” Mr. Murdock said. That ended that! The mate gave him a scowl and went his way. Thurlow Davis was an excellent mate for passenger boats. He could do carpenter work or anything in the line of maintenance that came up to do on a steamboat. How my father loved the Fourth of July! How he loved to have his boys enjoy firecrackers and fireworks so they could properly celebrate the Glorious Fourth. I often wonder how he would have reacted today when fireworks are not allowed. I suppose, like myself, he would uphold the law - but not really think much of it. AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along 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: Twenty years ago, four friends with an abiding love of the Hudson River and its history stepped away from their families and their work to travel up the river in a homemade strip-planked canoe to experience the river on its most intimate terms. The team set off from Liberty State Park in New Jersey and completed the adventure nine days later just below Albany where one of the paddlers lived. They began with no itinerary and no pre-arranged lodging or shore support. There were no cell phones. The journey deepened their appreciation for the river and its many moods, the people who live and work beside the river and the importance of friendship in sustaining our lives. Please join us vicariously on this excellent adventure. We'll be posting every Friday for the next several weeks, so stay tuned! Follow the adventure here. SaturdayUnpromising weather. We left the marina in Connelly. It was sprinkling, cold and there was a strong northeast wind so we did not unfurl the sail but instead lashed it to the thwarts. We shoved off into the Rondout around 9:30 paddling directly into the wind. Steve Trueman, a collector of old tugboats, hailed us from the 1930s tug K. Whittlesey and offered us shelter and coffee but we unwisely declined, being in a hurry to take advantage of the incoming flood tide.  Steve Trueman's boats. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. As we passed a scrap yard, it became clear that the wind was roaring right down the river from the north. The wind continued to rise as we paddled the exposed stretch of the creek toward the lighthouse. The river beyond the lighthouse was dark and disturbed, rolling with the steep and dirty waves that are created when the wind opposes the current. We estimated that the wind was blowing at about 20 mph. The incoming tide was rushing into the Rondout and we had to power the last 100 yards to reach temporary protection in the lee of the lighthouse before bodily forcing the Bear out into the river. We were immediately slammed by three and four foot waves which threatened to dash us on the rocks reinforcing the south breakwater. Try as hard as he might, Steve in the bow could not dig hard enough to bring our bow into the wind. I was equally unable to lever the stern downstream and Joe and Dan in the middle were unable to assist either of us from their position. After half a minute of intense effort, Steve just stopped paddling. I was astounded and speechless. There was no explanation. He simply stopped. We were sure we were about to broach. I figured that when the Bear filled, we would abandon her, swim for the breakwater and wait for help to arrive. Amazingly, however, the bow of the canoe unexpectedly rotated downstream and after a few seconds of hesitation, the three of us spun around in our seats (facing astern) and began paddling upstream with all of our might for shelter in the bay a short distance to our north. We later surmised that the unplanned spin that allowed us to gain control was the result of the bow of our canoe being too light. With two of us in the stern and the heavy chests and waterproof bags well behind the mast, the canoe was much steadier proceeding stern first. We shipped plenty of water smashing through the big waves and progress was excruciatingly slow, but we eventually rounded Kingston Point and entered calmer water. It was clear that we were not going to be able to make much more progress so we aimed the Bear for the beach north and west of the point and landed wet and exhausted. To get out of the relentless wind, we left the canoe on the beach and cowered behind a low plank wall near the beach parking lot. We were completely defeated.  The Rondout Lighthouse at Kingston. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. After a long pause and the resumption of normal heart rates and mental functions, we looked back over the wall toward the beached Bear and the bay beyond. The sky was clearing and the sun was coming out. A large freighter was bearing directly toward us before making the turn east to clear Kingston Point. Moments later, it dawned upon us that the ship’s wake could set the canoe afloat. But by the time we saw the curling wake approach, it was too late. We sprinted toward the canoe as she was lifted up at a crazy angle and then dashed on the beach parallel to the receding wake. A second wave rolled her over, dumping all of our gear into the churning water. The big yellow dry bags floated, but one of our food chests opened up spilling out cook stove and utensils. We ran out into the water, hurled everything we could find far up the beach and then drained the sand and water slurry out of the Bear and carried her far up the beach. We hung our wet gear up in a tree. Joe set up the stove behind the low wall and began boiling water for hot cocoa. We were feeling pretty low about our inauspicious start and we all knew that we were going to have to wait for the wind to moderate before setting off again.  A typical freighter. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. After a long pause and the resumption of normal heart rates and mental functions, we looked back over the wall toward the beached Bear and the bay beyond. The sky was clearing and the sun was coming out. A large freighter was bearing directly toward us before making the turn east to clear Kingston Point. Moments later, it dawned upon us that the ship’s wake could set the canoe afloat. But by the time we saw the curling wake approach, it was too late. We sprinted toward the canoe as she was lifted up at a crazy angle and then dashed on the beach parallel to the receding wake. A second wave rolled her over, dumping all of our gear into the churning water. The big yellow dry bags floated, but one of our food chests opened up spilling out cook stove and utensils. We ran out into the water, hurled everything we could find far up the beach and then drained the sand and water slurry out of the Bear and carried her far up the beach. We hung our wet gear up in a tree. Joe set up the stove behind the low wall and began boiling water for hot cocoa. We were feeling pretty low about our inauspicious start and we all knew that we were going to have to wait for the wind to moderate before setting off again. Steve and I set off to visit Steve Trueman and his collection of old tugboats. We had to fight our way around a fence and lots of heavy brush to get to his boats. Steve, who had offered us coffee little more than an hour earlier, was gone. His dog remained and did not mind our poking around among the tugboats and the covered barge. We returned the way we came, drank hot cocoa and ate some bologna sandwiches. Thus fortified, we decided to make a second attempt to paddle north in hopes of making a few miles before the tide set against us. We packed up and adjusted our baggage so that there was more weight in the bow. Launching into the surf with our fully loaded canoe was no mean feat, but we timed our launch perfectly and shipped only a few cold gallons of water when we broke through the first wave. After getting away from the beach, we hugged the west shore along the abandoned Hutton brickworks in order to break as much of the wind as possible. During the stronger gusts, we paddled just to stay in place and not lose ground. We eventually made it to the dock at Ulster Park where we tied up and took a break. There was a grassy lawn and a porta john here and we agreed that this would be an acceptable camping location if we couldn’t get further north. The sun was shining but low in the sky and a cold wind continued from the north, dead against us. We steeled ourselves for more paddling, hoping to get at least as far as the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge, but the tide was waning and we needed to find a landing and campsite before dark.  Bob's bus. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. A little more than half a mile north of the bridge, we found a small cove with a landing and made our decision to stay. After getting the canoe well above the high water mark, we scouted the area to determine if we could camp here without being disturbed. Nearby we found the hulk of an abandoned 1940s transit bus identified by painted letters as “Bob’s Bus.” The bus still retained its decorative chrome but had lost its wheels, engine and seats and was now full of lawn mowers and recreational equipment. A second cove near the bus was filled with the bones of abandoned brick barges. We found a fiberglass runabout filled with rotting leaves and fallen branches. Another boat was riding at a mooring north of our cove. A nineteenth century road with stone retaining walls switched back and forth and ascended a bluff towards several houses overlooking the river. Joe and I were definitely uncomfortable here, but Steve reminded us that it was late and the tide was gone leaving us no options. We unpacked and pitched Joe’s big tent in the gathering dusk. Steve had absolutely no concerns but Joe and I sure hoped no one would find us here before dawn. We prepared macaroni and cheese with hot dogs for dinner served with apple slices and cheddar cheese. After dinner it got cold. The tide went all the way out. We built a driftwood fire on the beach for warmth. A dog began barking on the ridge above us, and we could see the lights of the houses at the top. We crawled into our sleeping bags before 9:00 PM. It was a very cold night. High tide arrived at 2:00 AM and I checked to make sure that the Bear was far enough up the beach. I offered my winter coat to Joe to warm him up. Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 8 of the trip! AuthorMuddy Paddle’s love of the Hudson River goes back to childhood when he brought dead fish home, boarded foreign freighters to learn how they operated and wandered along the river shore in search of the river’s history. He has traveled the river often, aboard tugboats, sailing vessels large and small and canoes. The account of this trip was kept in a small illustrated journal kept dry within a sealed plastic bag. The illustrations accompanying this account were prepared by the author. 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!
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