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 volunteers Carl and Joan Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published May 6, 1973.

For many decades in years past, one of the true harbingers of spring locally was the annual run of shad in the Hudson River. The shad fishermen would lay their nets and, to many residents, the first shad was a happy event.

Generally, the relations between boatmen and the shad fishermen were amicable. The shad nets wound frequently drift across the channel and the boatmen would do their best to avoid them. On occasion, however, due to conditions of tide and wind - the boatmen would have no recourse but to run over the nets. Then, the relationship would be somewhat strained. At times the results were not without a touch of humor and, at other times, a bit bizarre. 

One time back in the, 1920's the tug "Victoria" of the Cornell Steamboat Company was going down river with several loaded scows for New York. She was bucking a flood tide off Highland and shaping the tow up for the cantilever span of the railroad bridge. 

The pilot on watch was getting close to the [b]ridge when he noticed he was going to run over a shad net. On looking over to the Highland side of the river, he saw a row boat coming out with an outboard motor and two men in it. Obviously they were the shad fishermen. 

He quickly blew one short blast on the whistle for the deckhand to come to the pilot house. When the deckhand came up, the pilot said, "Here, watch her, I’ve got to go below for a minute." 

Going down to the main deck, he went to the galley and put on the cook’s apron and hat and stood in the galley door as the shad fishermen came alongside. 

When they were within shouting distance, one of the fishermen hollered over, "What the devil are you running over my nets for?” and added a few more choice words of admonition. Of course, the deckhand in the pilot house didn’t know what to say since he was a new man and green at the game. 

The pilot, dressed like the cook, stood in the galley and laughed at the poor deckhand taking the bawling out. Then, to add insult to injury, he looked at [t]he fishermen, shaking his head and pointing up at the pilot house — as if he was in sympathy with the fishermen and perhaps not thinking much of the “pilot” steering the tugboat. 

Are your shad bushes blooming? The large shadbush (also known as juneberry or serviceberry or shad blow) in the museum's courtyard is getting ready to bloom - that means the shad run is starting! 

In this story, Port Ewen commercial fisherman Frank Parslow describes restrictions on fishing in New York Harbor during WWII and the impact on Hudson River fishermen.

This audio clip is part of the Hudson River Maritime Museum's Hudson River Commercial Fishermen Oral History Collection. You can listen to a selection of the museum's full oral history interviews on New York Heritage.

​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!​

Filmmaker Ken Sargeant has compiled many of Henry's stories, including with footage from a filmed oral history interview, into "Tales from Henry's Hudson." 

In 2013, Arts Westchester put together this short video of Henry, combining oral histories from the Hudson River Maritime Museum and film interviews by Ken Sargeant. You can watch more of Henry on film below:

For today's Media Monday, we thought we'd highlight one of the best storytellers on the Hudson River. Henry Gourdine, a commercial fisherman on the Hudson River since the 1920s, was a famous advocate for the river and its fishing heritage. Born on Croton Point on January 7, 1903, his reminiscences of growing up along the waterfront, defying his mother to spend time there, and his working life on the river, captured the imagination of the region at a time when commercial fishing was under threat from PCBs. 

A boatbuilder, net knitter, and fisherman, as well as a storyteller, Gourdine helped preserve many of the fishing crafts. He taught boatbuilding and net knitting at South Street Seaport, recorded descriptions of many heritage fishing methods on tape, and would happily talk about the river and fishing to anyone who asked. 

Henry Gourdine passed away October 17, 1997 at the age of 94. Read his New York Times obituary. 

In 2006, the New York Times published a retrospective on the impact of Henry Gourdine on local communities throughout the valley. 

The Hudson River Maritime Museum has an extensive collection of oral history recordings of Hudson River commercial fishermen. Marguerite Holloway interviewed Henry Gourdine several times between 1989 and 1994, covering a whole host of fishing-related topics. Those oral histories now reside at the Hudson River Maritime Museum and have been digitized for your listening and research pleasure. Click the button below to take a listen!

Built in 1927, Henry Gourdine's fishing shed stood for decades along the Ossining waterfront. But the days of the working waterfront were over, and Ossining sold the property to developers in the early 2000s. By 2006, work was set to begin, and Henry's shed was not part of the for condominiums overlooked the Hudson River. Despite pleas from local conservationists and the Gourdine family, including a temporary injunction from a court, the shed was ultimately demolished in May, 2006. 

Henry's fishing equipment and two boats were salvaged from inside and saved by Arts Westchester and family members. 

Preservationist and cataloger of ruins Rob Yasinsac cataloged the shed and its contents in April, 2006, before it was bulldozed. Read his account and see more pictures. 
​
Sadly, the development soon stalled, and ground was not broken on the condos until 2014. 

Perhaps as an apology for the demolition, the condominium development known as Harbor Square created a waterfront park and named it Henry Gourdine Park in honor of the man who fished off its shores for nearly 80 years. 

The park was opened in June, 2018. You can learn more about the park and its amenities and visit yourself. 

Did you ever meet Henry Gourdine? Have you ever fished on the Hudson River? What's your favorite Henry Gourdine story? Share your thoughts in the comments!

​The History Blog is supported by museum members and readers like you! Donate or join 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 volunteers Carl and Joan Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. ​This article was originally published April 30, 1972.

In the days when the Hudson River was relatively pollution free, every spring shad fisherman could be found with their nets from New York City north to Castleton.  Shad fishermen would frequently venture far from home, going to a spot on the river that was particularly to their liking and there set up their operation.  One of these was Bernard “Nod'' Washburn of Sleightsburgh.  

When I was a boy, "Nod" Washburn was a neighbor of ours.  He was then an old man.  and would fascinate me with the recounting of his shad fishing experiences.  “Nod” also impressed me as a boy with an expression he would use when something especially caught his fancy.  He would say, “By the handle of the great horned spoon!,’’ an expression I never heard anyone else use. 

In the 1880's, 1890's and the early years of this century, “Nod" and his father always fished for the spring run of shad at Cranston’s, later known as Highland Falls.  The steamboat landing at that point was then known as Cranston’s after the large hotel then located there.

The hotel later became what is now Ladycliff Academy, just south of Highland Falls village. 

A Portable Shanty
With the coming of spring, “Nod” and his father would load their round bottom shad boat with nets, floats, supplies and a portable shanty to live in.  They would then leave Sleightsburgh and row over to the Romer and Tremper steamboat dock at Rondout. 

There, their boat and gear would be hauled aboard either the “William F. Romer" or the “James W. Baldwin.”  Leaving Rondout at 6 p.m., they would then sail down the river, as the old timers would say, on the “night boat.”

On the way down river, the Washburns would sleep right in their shad boat that was being carried on the freight deck.  Being known by the crew, they would have their supper down in the crew's mess room.  “Nod" told me he always preferred to go down on the “Romer” because he knew the steward, Henry Bell, would always give them a good supper.  In return, the Washburns always saw to it that Steward Bell and his family received their share of fresh shad for the season. 

They would arrive at Cranston's about 2 a.m. in the lonely morning hours, after making all the landings between Rondout and Highland Falls.  "Nod" said they couldn't get much sleep because at every landing there would be the noise of loading freight, the rumble of the hand freight trucks, and the mate hollering at the freight handlers to hurry up so the steamer could get away on time. 

Leaving the ‘Romer’
After the “Romer” left the dock at Cranston’s, she would pull out in the river and stop, swing out her forward davits, lower the Washburn's boat and all its gear in the river, and then continue on her way to New York City.  "Nod" and his father would then row over to Boat House Point on the east shore, pick out a good location and set up their shanty.  They would then get their fishing gear ready "to get on the make" with the first flood tide.

If the tide was right, they would make their first drift at about 8 or 10 a.m.  Sometimes they missed the first flood tide, and after getting things all set, would be so tired they would sleep until late morning.  They camped and fished off Highland Falls yearly from about the first of April until Memorial Day. 

On nights when the Washburns had shad to ship to New York, they would raise a red lantern to let either William Mabie, the pilot on the “Romer" or Abram Brooks, the pilot on the "Baldwin” know there would be shad to be put aboard the steamer.  When put on the steamboat, the shad were packed in long boxes filled with ice on the freight deck, and the mate would see to it they were well taken care of.  “Nod" and his father preferred the Romer" as their friend "Billy" Mabie[,] the pilot, would always drop a copy of the Kingston Daily Freeman in their boat to be read when drifting with their nets on the flood and ebb tides. 

When the steamboat reached New York, a representative of the New York markets would meet the boat at the Franklyn Street pier and buy the shad.  The mate Henry Kellerman of the “Romer" or the mate of the “Baldwin" did all the financial transactions in the big city.  When the steamboat came back up the  next night, the fishermen would have to be over at the dock at Cranston's to collect their money, which was always right to the penny.  Then they would settle their account with the mate. 

‘True Blue’ Mate
Washburn said never once was anything written on paper.  Everything was left to the honesty of the mate.  Always he was ‘‘true blue," as a boatman would say. 

As spring wore on and it came to the latter part of May, changes would come to the river.  The south wind of summer would begin to blow up through the Highlands, bringing with it the smoke from the chemical works at Manitou; the “Mary Powell” would commence her daily runs to New York; the mosquito[e]s would rise from the marshes in back of Conn's Hook; the water would start to get warm and the shad would start to get soft. 

One morning, “Nod" Washburn's father would say, "Well 'Nod', who comes up tonight?” “Nod" would answer, "Well, Pop, it’s the ‘Romer,’ she went down last night."

His dad would say, "We are going to get her up tonight.  I’m getting homesick for Sleightsburgh.  When I get aboard, I am going up in the pilot house and shoot the breeze with ‘Billy’ Mabie and find out all that we missed since we've been away from Sleightsburgh and Port Ewen.  When we get home tomorrow, I can sleep all day."

Back in Rondout
When their boat was put off the "Romer" in Rondout Creek, the Washburns would just row across the creek to the shore by the old sleigh factory that used to be east of the shipyard, pull their boat up on shore, and go up the hill to their home and go to sleep.  Then, later, they would go back down, unload their boat, and put their shad nets away for another season. 

Back in those days, "Nod" said you could leave your boat down on shore with all supplies in it and nobody would touch a thing — even if it sat there for a week.  So ended another long ago day of shad fishing in the lordly Hudson.

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

These images show examples of fishing camps along the Hudson River. Sturgeon and shad were both prized for their caviar.  Sturgeon is a prehistoric fish that can grow up to 15 feet and weigh up to 800 pounds. In the 18th and 19th centuries, sturgeon meat was so plentiful it was nicknamed "Albany Beef". A 40 year sturgeon fishing moratorium was declared in 1998 in an effort to restore the sturgeon population.

Shad, a type of herring, live most of their lives in the Atlantic Ocean, returning in the spring to spawn in the freshwater rivers of their birth. A very bony fish with flavorful meat,  filleting shad is an art. Shad weigh between 3 and 8 pounds. Female shad are valued for their eggs to make caviar. Hudson River commercial fishing came to a halt in the 1970s. More on that here. Visit the Hudson River Commercial Fishing Oral Histories at New York Heritage to learn more.

"On the River" was a public television project of WTZA-TV, Hudson Valley Television, Kingston, New York. Running from 1986/87-1993, all episodes of this series are now held in the Marist College Archives as part of their Environmental History collection. This episode is shared with permission by the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

"Logbook 36" follows Port Ewen shad fisherman Frank Parslow as he discusses Hudson River fishing, goes out on the river and actually does some shad fishing with his nephew George Mick, who comes up from South Carolina just to go shad fishing. After the come back to shore, Frank discusses how he cleans, brines, and smokes the shad.

We'll be sharing many of the river-related "Logbooks" from "On the River" over the next several Saturdays, so stay tuned!

Frank Parslow was a member of the Hudson River Fisherman's Association and had a hand in the prosecution of Exxon Mobile for stealing Hudson River Water. If you want the whole story, you can visit our online exhibit, Rescuing the River. 

Frank was also one of many Hudson River commercial fishermen who were interviewed over the years and his oral history is one of dozens that reside at the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

You can listen to more of Frank's wonderful stories online at New York Heritage, where many interviews from HRMM's oral history collection are housed. 

If you'd like to see more videos from the Hudson River Maritime Museum, visit our YouTube Channel. For more "On the River" episodes, check out our YouTube playlist just for this show.

​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!​