We had a restful night on the wall in Seneca Falls and woke up with much anticipation for a day on the Erie Canal. We had heavy fog as we made our way across Lake Van Cleef and lined up our approach to the locks 2 and 3 of the Cayuga and Seneca Canal. The combined locks drop boats a total of 49 feet. The lock chambers were turbulent and I had an awful time with our transmission trying unsuccessfully to keep the boat in position. Everyone kept yelling at me to keep the boat in neutral including the lock tender. Neutral, however, was only a state of mind.

When the big steel doors opened at the bottom of Lock 2, an eddy on the swollen and swift flowing Seneca River got a hold of the Belle and we needed full throttle to regain steering and control. Fortunately, full throttle worked just fine. We barreled down the Seneca River with the flood waters for three miles and then briefly entered the north end of Cayuga Lake before finding the approach to Lock 1 at the lake’s outlet. A south turn would have taken us up the lake 40 miles to Ithaca.

We entered Lock 1 with a New York State Canals buoy tender. The lock operator was especially friendly and good natured and maintained manicured lawns and plantings around the lock. Shauna came up on deck to help with the stern line and I stayed put at the pedestal trying to maintain our position with the shift lever. When the lock opened, we travelled north on the Seneca River alongside the Montezuma Wildlife Refuge.

​The river was high and we noticed some flooding and several sunken docks. We passed beneath the New York State Thruway to a roundabout of waterways including the mouth of the Clyde River, a short channel leading to the west-bound Erie Canal, and a short channel carrying the Seneca River and east-bound Erie Canal. We turned right to take a look at the ruins of the 900-foot long Richmond Aqueduct completed on the enlarged Erie Canal in 1857. All but seven of the aqueduct’s 31 stone arches were dynamited in 1917 when the Barge Canal was completed and traffic was routed from the aqueduct to the river. This was one of the longest of the aqueducts on the Erie Canal and remains one the canal’s most impressive and scenic engineering monuments.

​We turned around and headed west on the Erie reaching Lock E-25 at May’s Point in a few minutes. May’s Point was a small tongue of dry land in the great Montezuma Swamp and an important landmark in the trackless swampland here for early travelers going west by boat and the workers forcing the original Erie Canal through the malarial swamps. Lock 25 features a steel arch gateway and remains an oasis surrounded by trees and lawns. After locking up, we traveled west along the artificially dug Barge Canal while observing the many channels and oxbows of the parallel Clyde River immediately to our south. We caught glimpses of the original but abandoned Erie Canal channel immediately to our north.  We went through Lock E-26 just before arriving at the village of Clyde.     

Clyde was settled in 1811 and named Lauraville in anticipation of our best friend Lora’s arrival aboard the Belle (just kidding of course!). A few years later, it was renamed Clyde by Scotsman Andrew McNab who also named the main business street Glasgow Street. The Erie Canal was built right through the settlement which became a bustling glass manufacturing center. When the Barge Canal was built in the early twentieth century, the old canal in town was abandoned and a new and larger channel was established a short distance to the south by straightening and dredging the Clyde River. There was a famous covered bridge over the river on Glasgow Street in the nineteenth century. We believe we observed one of its stone abutments as we continued our journey west.
 
We continued along a heavily wooded stretch of canal interrupted by occasional and somewhat picturesque abandoned railroad bridge abutments festooned with grapevines and poison ivy. For about five miles, the canal parallels the old river with its tortured turns and loops which if traveled by boat would total ten or more miles. Shauna and Lora made soup and nachos for lunch. Soon, the village of Lyons came into view.
 
Lyons was settled in 1789 at the fork of the head of the Clyde River where it was fed by the Canandaigua Outlet and the Ganargua or Mud Creek and named (tongue-in-cheek?) for the French city of Lyon at the fork of the Rhine and the Saone. Its French namesake seemed to have inspired architectural pretensions and the village subsequently developed a skyline with a domed courthouse, two substantial Gothic church towers with tall finials, and a three-story commercial block with a very fine wrought iron gallery at the corner. According to Rochester journalist Arch Merrill, 40 slaves were brought here from Maryland in 1797 to build a 1600 acre plantation for Daniel Dorsey complete with mansion and slave cabins.

​Lyons was established as the seat of Wayne County and its swampy lands became ideal for the culture of essential oils, particularly peppermint. Later in the nineteenth century, it became an important railroad town.  The New York Central Railroad maintained car shops in Lyons until 1923.    

​We passed beneath the Geneva Street bridge and tied up on the wall near the approach to Lock E-27. The lock tender had already opened his gates to lock us up, so I called him on the radio to apologize and to let him know we were stopping in Lyons for a few hours.
 
After connecting to shore power, we took a walk to the east side of town to visit the Trail of Hope. Aptly named, the serpentine trail and surrounding park were recently built by volunteers to offer children and the handicapped an opportunity to experience nature and to plant. We then walked into the town center where we visited the shops on William Street, got fresh coffee and searched unsuccessfully for some peppermint souvenirs. The Hotchkiss Essential Oils Company bottled peppermint oil here until about 20 years ago, shipping the concentrate in cobalt blue bottles and vials to candy and toothpaste manufacturers all over the world. One of their biggest customers was the Life Savers factory in Port Chester, NY, still decorated with larger-than-life peppermint Life Savers. The nineteenth century canal-side building has been preserved.  

We also went over to the courthouse square. One of the most sensational trials conducted in the Wayne County Courthouse was that of Oliver Curtis Perry who hijacked and robbed an express train in 1892 and made an escape by taking an idle locomotive away from the scene.  He was chased, jumped off, stole a horse and sleigh, and then ran on foot. He was sentenced to 49 years, and later escaped from two prisons. The Utica Globe entitled its story of the trial “Startling Career, Desperate Deeds, Gifted Ruffian.”
 
We returned to the Belle, and called the lock operator. He was at Lock E-28A and had to drive to E-27 to pass us west. After locking through, he drove back to E-28A to assist us there. Many lock operators manage two or more locks, shuttling between them by car or when close together by bicycle. Lock E-28A is located at the historic Lyons dry docks where canal tugs and barges are placed on blocks and repaired. Historic Dipper Dredge 3 sits in retirement here, a major artifact from the age of steam and the construction of the Barge Canal in the early twentieth century. The old “Poorhouse Lock” (old lock 56) from the 1840s is preserved here along with a brick canal store which is now a private residence.

​We could have spent at least an hour here, but the day was getting late and we were anxious to cover the few remaining miles to Newark. Several long freight trains ran parallel to the canal here and I was able to signal one in time for the engineer to blow the horn. We locked up through E-28B at the east end of Newark and docked on the wall in front of a village park with full boater services including showers and a laundromat. We had dinner at an Italian restaurant on Main Street. Back at the boat, Shauna baked cookies and we played a few rounds of Pictionary before calling it a night.

​Muddy Paddle's Erie Canal adventure will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, and Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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​Last night I paid our bill at the marina and told Captain Terry that I was planning to depart early in the morning by making a tricky three-point turn with the Belle. He didn’t like that plan at all, and later confided to the first mate that the Belle’s captain was “loco.” Brent tried to calm him down but It bothered him enough that when we woke up Tuesday morning, we found that the captain had relocated the big cruiser at our stern giving the Belle a clear exit to the gap in the breakwater. We shoved off under the good captain’s wary eye at 8:15 and shaped our course north along the east shore of the lake. We were hoping to get a nice view of Hector Falls, but we were in too close to the shore, and the falls were completely screened by topography and vegetation.

​We had a pleasant cruise down the lake with a gentle breeze at our back. As we reached Lodi Point, Brent fired up the gas grill and prepared barbecue pork chops for lunch. Brent loves to cook! The view from the helm consisted of the American flag at our mast, clouds of smoke rising from the bow, and intermittent appearances of our broadly grinning first mate, Brent. There were no boats out on the lake at all. It occurred to me that if we had mechanical trouble or worse, no help was readily available and that there were few access points given the steep banks rising up from the lake.

​It also occurred to someone on shore that our boat was on fire. A call was apparently made to one of the fine local fire departments. A couple of trucks appeared on the ridge to our east but returned to the station after apparently using binoculars or smelling our pork chops.

​We reached Geneva after lunch and it grew overcast as we re-entered the C&S Canal. Here we encountered kayakers and a replica of the steam launch African Queen.

Brent radioed Lock 4 when we saw the Waterloo water tower. The lock came up abruptly around a sharp bend in the canal. There was a heavy outflowing current bent on carrying us to the adjacent spillway where a rental company canalboat was stuck with emergency lines holding her in place. A breeze from the west didn’t help. We bumped our way into the lock chamber, crooked but safe. We were very grateful to have missed the rendezvous with the other boat and the spillway and even more grateful when the lock doors closed, blocking the breeze. Once again I was unable to keep the engine in neutral. The transmission would creep forward and then backward requiring constant adjustments. I tried using a boat hook to handle the hand line nearest the stern without leaving the pedestal, but once the boat gained any momentum, it was impossible. Brent held tight to his line in the bow, so the stern was always the first to go rogue.
 
Once through the lock, we had a routine return to Seneca Falls and tied the boat up to the wall near the Heritage Area Center. The stranded canal boat was recovered from the edge of the spillway later in the afternoon and towed with her frightened occupants to the wall next to us. The renters were sputtering about the boat, the rental company and their “near death” experience at the spillway. They ended their trip in a rented Escalade after abandoning all of their provisions and all of their pride at our gangway.
 
After cleaning, putting away the new food and making the Belle shipshape, we took ourselves on a walking tour of Seneca Falls. At Seneca Falls, a series of waterfalls and rapids created a barrier for west-bound travelers on the Seneca River. A portage was established in 1787 and mills took advantage of water power early in the 19th century. The Seneca & Cayuga Canal established locks here in 1818 and the connection between the two lakes and the Erie Canal was completed in 1825. Using abundant water power and the ability to ship materials by canal, Seneca Falls became a thriving mill town of four and five story mill buildings, foundries, housing, churches and stores employing thousands of laborers.
 
It was against this background that Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Mary Ann McClintock and others organized the Women’s Rights Convention in 1848 at the Wesleyan Chapel on Fall Street. Central New York and the “burned over district” were primed for reform and advocates for abolition, women’s rights and Native Peoples’ rights had been recruiting in the area, especially among a branch of the local Quaker community.
 
The convention, housed within a plain brick church, attracted both women and men and luminaries including Lucretia Mott and Frederick Douglass. It resulted in the publication of the Declaration of Sentiments, now recognized as a seminal moment in the history of human rights. The chapel building became many things after the Convention including, ironically, its final degradation as a decrepit laundromat. To interpret the building’s history after acquisition, the National Park Service initially deconstructed it to reveal only those materials that were original to it in 1848, leaving large sections of the top and sides open to the elements and accelerated deterioration. In 2010, the building was sensibly enclosed with new material where necessary in order to preserve the original walls and the surviving roof timbers.     

​We toured Fall Street, looked at the stores and restaurants, walked over to Elizabeth Candy Stanton’s house and finally sat to rest at a canal-side pavilion near Trinity Church. Lou, the boat owner’s representative, found us and gave us the unexpected but good news that the that the entire canal system would reopen tomorrow morning at 7:00 AM. We picked up a few supplies and had dinner at a pub on Fall St.  It was dark when we returned to the boat. Lou staggered by for a visit after apparently spending a good part of the day at the American Legion. He stumbled on his way down the companionway steps and crashed flat on his face in the galley, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. We got him cleaned up and made him a cup of coffee before sending him home. We took power showers at the visitor center, checked our lines, and then called it a night. We will be entering the Erie Canal tomorrow!     

​Muddy Paddle's Erie Canal adventure will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, and Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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​Nineteenth century photographs of Seneca Lake often echo similar scenes along the Hudson River. The long lake is surrounded by steep hills and its assortment of steamboats and canalboats look pretty familiar. The lake was also studded by large villas reminiscent of those on the Hudson and lakeside resorts. Commerce on the lake included the movement of coal and agricultural produce north to the Erie Canal and passenger steamers and ferries transited and criss-crossed the lake much as they did along the Hudson.
 
I got up earlier than my mates and walked around the harbor at sunrise. There were a number of interesting and classic boats here including the excursion boat Seneca Legacy, the 1934 excursion boat Stroller, John Alden’s 1926 schooner Malabar VII and General Patton’s 1939 schooner When & If. I sketched vignettes of each and walked the shoreline in search of a souvenir. I recovered the neck of a green nineteenth century beer or soda bottle from a heap of dredge spoil as a talisman of Watkins Glen’s commercial past.
 
Brent and I prepared bacon, eggs and toast in the galley and got caught on video doing a happy dance in front of the range. After cleaning up, we prepared picnic lunches, strapped on backpacks, and hiked to Watkins Glen State Park, about a mile south of the village. The park is one of the gems of the New York State park system and receives guests from around the world, many of them on tour buses heading to or from Niagara Falls. We encountered visitors from China, India and the Philippines. The centerpiece of the park is a two-mile gorge with 19 waterfalls and a precarious trail built on ledges, over stone bridges, through tunnels and up an endless series of steps and staircases. The park was established by a journalist in 1863 and acquired by New York State in 1935. A biblical flood in 1935 raised the water 80 feet deep midway through the gorge and within a few feet of a surviving bridge. Most of the stone-lined trail and bridges post-date this appalling flood.

​We reached the top of the gorge and had a pleasant picnic under the shade of a tree. It was 88 F. It was easier descending the gorge than climbing it, but it was a hot afternoon so we stopped for ice cream at the “Colonial” on Main Street. We returned to the boat and relaxed for about an hour.
 
We bought some wine on Main Street for friends and had dinner at an Italian restaurant a few blocks south of the lake. Overhearing the conversations, it was apparent that many of the diners here were connected with auto racing and the Gand Prix in particular.

​After dinner we saw a micro-beer ad at the Chamber of Commerce. Shauna was determined to get some for our son but it was only sold in growlers at the brewery or at a liquor store south of the state park entrance. The brewery was closed so she took one of the bikes lashed to the cabin top and rode into the sunset. She arrived just after the store closed but somehow convinced an employee to let her in to purchase the beer anyway. She returned triumphantly an hour later with a bulging backpack!

​We watched a comedy in the salon and enjoyed popcorn and chocolate. We called it a night at 11:00 PM and slept soundly on a calm and mild night.

​Muddy Paddle's Erie Canal adventure will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, and Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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​The Belle was comfortable for a boat of her size. The wood paneled cabins were warm and attractive, the layout was convenient and there was plenty of headroom. Shelving, cabinets and drawers used space efficiently and the window ports were dressed with curtains. A packet boat of the kind used on these canals before the Civil War would have been nearly twice as long, but would have carried dozens of passengers, segregated by gender and fit into bunks that could be folded away or otherwise removed during the day. Our boat cruises at about five or six miles per hour, only slightly better than its horse drawn predecessors. Mule drawn freight boats were slower.

After an infusion of coffee, we cast off our lines and headed for Lock 4 and Seneca Lake beyond.  Lock 4 is in the village and takes boats up to the lake level. We radioed the lock in advance of our approach and had a green light and open gates when we arrived. I got the boat lined up nicely on the right side of the lock chamber and put the shift into neutral so I could leave the pedestal and take hold of one of the hand lines to keep the boat parallel and next to the chamber wall. Brent did the same in the bow.

​We started having problems as soon as the doors closed behind us. First, the boat would begin to creep forward and Brent would yell that he couldn’t hold his line any more. I would go back to the pedestal, give the boat a few revolutions of reverse, go back to neutral and then run back to grab my line. But then the boat would creep backwards. She was living up to her name the Belle MULE!” I was grateful when the chamber was full and the gates opened at the upper end.
 
We encountered a stiff current carrying excess lake water east over the spillway and had to use the bow thruster to remain on course. Two miles west, we stopped at a dock and walked up to Route 20 to visit the Scythe Tree, a local point of interest with a sad story. James Wyman Johnson enlisted in the Union Army in 1861 and left his scythe in the crotch a cottonwood tree near his family’s farmhouse. He asked that it remain there until his return. He died of battle wounds in a Confederate prison in Raleigh and never returned to the farm. The tree grew around the scythe. When the United States entered World War I, two brothers living on the farm, Ray and Lynn Schaffer, enlisted, placed their scythes in another crotch of the tree and found them embedded in the tree, when unlike Johnson, they returned safely. All three scythes remain in the big tree.
 
We continued our cruise west into Seneca Lake and set a course for Belhurst Castle on the west shore of the lake below Geneva where we had made brunch reservations. However, we realized that it was getting late and a long brunch, not to mention the steep ascent up from the dock, would burn up hours and delay our efforts to reach Watkins Glen and find a berth. It was also beautiful weather, so we cancelled our reservations and continued our cruise, viewing the big Victorian house from half a mile out. We steered well clear of a sailboat race underway at the north end of the 36-mile long lake.

In addition to its considerable length, Seneca Lake is also more than 600 feet deep and littered with the wrecks of dozens of canalboats, steamboats and other craft from its long history of use. Many of these went down in bad weather and as a result of accidents (maybe this is why the boat rental companies prohibit their canalboats from venturing out onto the lakes….). Others were scuttled here at the end of the animal powered canal era. One of the best wrecks for divers to visit is located along our course below Geneva in Glass Factory Bay at a depth of about 115 feet. Unfortunately, visiting divers were careless some years earlier and dragged an anchor through the intact canalboat, carrying its lightly framed cabin top off the boat and over the side.

​Traveling south at about six miles per hour, we reached the power plant near Dresden late in the morning and the Navy training platform in the center of the lake around 1:00 PM. The derrick-studded platform is now leased as a research facility but some years ago it represented the center of a highly classified experimental submarine warfare station and was heavily guarded by armed sentries and patrol boats.  Shauna and Lora relaxed and soaked up the sun in lawn chairs set up in the bow. Women passengers aboard the packet boats were similarly offered chairs in the bow to enjoy their journeys.
 
Watkins Glen is located at the south end of Seneca Lake and we began making calls and using the radio in an effort to find a berth for the Belle. The most likely facility was Village Marina but we were unable to make contact. After passing several very large cruising sloops and a schooner we arrived at a rip rap breakwater protecting the marina. The radio crackled and we were told to switch to channel 66.  Once there, Captain Terry, the marina manager, told us that he had a berth available. He sounded agitated.  He told us to enter the basin between two drunken pilings; turn sharply right and then approach the T-dock “under spirits.” As we entered, we could see that there was very little space to maneuver and that there were plenty of big and expensive fiberglass cruisers to stay clear of. I threw the transmission into reverse to kill our momentum, spun the wheel to starboard and then crawled forward. A crowd emerged outside of the bar to watch the expected pile-up. We could see that we would need to parallel park because there was no room to turn the Belle around. A gentle breeze helped us line up and a bystander threw us a line at exactly the right moment.  We made a clean landing, secured our lines and shut down the engine. A greeting committee gathered with drinks for us and we felt obliged to graciously open up the boat to them to satisfy their curiosity. One woman on her fourth martini made herself at home in the salon where she held court.
 
Captain Terry raced in from the lake to see if we had done any damage to the expensive boats or the docks. Seeing that we were well secured and seemingly accepted at the marina, he relaxed a little and explained that hire boats like ours make him nervous. A similar boat crashed and sank on the inside of the stone breakwater in a previous year. Recalling the incident, he said, “you know a guy is in trouble when you see his wife yelling at him, his daughter tugging on him and his mother-in-law giving him instructions as he tries to dock a big boat.”

​After tidying up and gently asking Mrs. Martini to leave, we walked into Watkins Glen, explored Main St, and got bad directions to Walmart where we planned to buy groceries and ice. We returned to boat much more directly using a shortcut along the railroad tracks. Brent found that our grille had no gas, so he made a second trip to Walmart to get some so that he could grill chicken for dinner on the bow. Shauna and Lora prepared salads and rice in the galley. We set up folding chairs on the cabin top and had a relaxing dinner as the sun set. Sailing cruisers and an excursion boat sailed in and out of of the harbor with red and green running lights as it got darker. We retired to the cabin for a spirited game of Pictionary and fell asleep quickly as the sea gulls squealed overhead. We slept restfully as the Belle swayed gently to the lake swells.   

​Muddy Paddle's Erie Canal adventure will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, and Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
The History Blog is supported by museum members and readers like you! Donate or join today!

There are several excellent canalboat rental outfits but Muddy selected a well-worn narrow boat from a private owner for this trip. He and his crew members picked up the boat on the Cayuga and Seneca Canal in Seneca Falls and planned to travel north to the junction with the Erie at May’s Point and then west on the Erie to Buffalo. The all steel Belle Mule was a retired hire boat measuring 46 feet in length, 12 feet in beam and a draft of about 3.5 feet. She featured a virtually flat bottom with a rounded bow and stern.  Her cabin was built of steel and contained a galley and salon at the after end and two compartments forward, each with a head, and bunks for four. She had been designed to recall the shape of a nineteenth century horse-drawn packet boat. The Belle was powered by a Yanmar diesel beneath the quarterdeck and a bow thruster for help in docking in tight quarters. She carried a pedestal helm with a steering wheel and engine controls. The quarterdeck was protected from rain and sun by a canvas canopy. A marine radio was carried under the canopy with the microphone hanging directly above the helm.

The weather was terrible for the the entire week before Muddy’s departure and rainwater flooded the Erie throughout central New York. The Finger Lakes were over their banks flooding Penn Yan and discharging millions of gallons of water into the Seneca River and other feeders of the canal including the Clyde River. An advisory was issued temporarily closing the Erie but allowing the Cayuga and Seneca to remain open. So Muddy changed the itinerary to explore the Finger Lakes in hopes that the Erie would re-open later in the week, which it did. His illustrated account of the adventure, taken from his on-board journal, is presented in the following pages.

We sailed to Seneca Falls aboard Brent’s Silverado. The bed of the truck was filled will gear and provisions and the hatch was covered with a tarp due to the never-ending rain. The weather improved as we plotted our final approach to the village.  Arriving at the Water St bulkhead, we met the boat owner’s representative, Lou. Lou turned over the keys and we took the boat out for a brief shakedown cruise on Lake Van Cleef to get acquainted with her operation and handling. 
 
Lake Van Cleef is a product of the early twentieth century Barge Canal. The falls on the Seneca River, and the stone locks carrying boats around the falls were dammed and flooded in 1915 to create two massive concrete locks with a combined 42-foot drop and an adjacent hydroelectric plant. Many of the water-powered factories in Seneca Falls were demolished in preparation for the flooding and the character of the village was forever changed. The old Cayuga and Seneca Canal locks and building foundations remain intact at the bottom of the lake. We had a nice ten-minute cruise before returning to the wall, moving our gear aboard and then berthing the truck at a village lot.

After getting the boat settled, we motored under the George Bailey bridge (Seneca Falls is said to have been the inspiration for Bedford Falls in the Jimmy Stewart film “It’s a Wonderful Life”) and continued several miles west on the C&S Canal to Waterloo to take in Memorial Day weekend celebrations.

Founded on the site of a Cayuga village destroyed during the American Revolution, Waterloo was settled in the 1790s, named “New Hudson” in 1807 and then re-named “Waterloo” in 1816 in commemoration of Napoleon’s 1815 defeat. The village retains fine early nineteenth century houses and later nineteenth century commercial blocks.

Waterloo bills itself as the birthplace of Memorial Day, first celebrated here in 1866.  At Lafayette Park, we found an enormous display of flags, food vendors, and bands playing country, swing and rock. A tribute rock band belted out Judas Priest and AC/DC and a country band performed “Sentimental Journey.”

​We visited a Civil War re-enactment camp and listened to the Erie Canal song accompanied by guitar. The “Erie Canal” song was tamed and published by Thomas Allen as “Low Bridge, Everybody Down” in 1905, but earlier versions referenced the darker side of life along the canal. One of the many folk stanzas still circulating at the time the song got cleaned up referred to Sal as an alcoholic cook who “died in sin, and had too much gin; ain’t no bar where she didn’t go, from Albany to Buffalo.” 
 
We had a food truck dinner at the park and returned to the Belle for the evening where we watched fireworks above the village from the cabin top. Lou stopped by before we turned-in for the evening and asked us if we wanted to go out for a few beers. Brent lied and said that he was an 67 and  “too old for that kind of nonsense.”

Muddy Paddle's Erie Canal adventure will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, and Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his canoe trip down the Hudson River.

The History Blog is supported by museum members and readers like you! Donate or join today!

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

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

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

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

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

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

​Unpromising 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.

​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.

​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.

​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.

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!

​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.

​We got up and out of our tents at 6:00 AM and fixed some oatmeal for breakfast. We busted out a new oatmeal carton so that we could get to the apple cinnamon packages.  We broke camp and launched the canoe at 7:30. Just as we paddled past the north end of the island, two herons appeared having resumed their duties as island sentries. A flock of cormorants perched on a buoy observed our departure in silence. We waved to two campers on the east bank fishing for breakfast as the smoke from their campfire curled downward toward our canoe. After passing below Mills Mansion, we set our course for the picturesque Esopus Meadows Lighthouse. As we approached the lighthouse, we observed scaffolding and a “Save the Lighthouse” sign. Built in 1871, it was placed near the middle of the river to guide mariners away from shallow water extending all the way toward the west shore. The lighthouse was built above a round stone caisson on wooden pilings. Decades after it was built, it was hit by a ship. The integrity of the caisson was compromised causing a significant tilt and continuing dilemmas for maintenance and preservation. 

​The river makes a significant bend toward the east here. We cut back across the main channel of the river toward Sturgeon Point on the east shore in an attempt to shorten the distance to Kingston. The 1913 lighthouse at the mouth of the Rondout became our new heading and we again crossed the river diagonally to enter the creek. It was high tide as we paddled up the creek and tied up to a dock on the Strand just in front of the sloop Clearwater. After resting, we proceeded to Joe’s marina in Connelly where we tied up for the night. The weather report for tomorrow was ominous.

​Mid-Hudson Valley
 
I woke up to heavy dew at 4:30 AM, cleaned up and began packing. The others rose from their fitful rest at 5:00. We were anxious to catch the flood tide. We fixed some oatmeal, broke camp and were paddling north before sunrise. We hailed the canal cruise ship Niagara Princess and rounded Danskammer Point, named by early Dutch travelers who are said to have witnessed council fires and native dancing on the promontory. Moments later, we witnessed the sun rise above the concrete silos and steel conveyors of the stone crusher on the east shore. Shifting tugs were already arranging barges at the plant and the sun’s long rays were described in sharp focus by the omnipresent clouds of dust. The crusher plant here and the power plant at Danskammer Point are two of the most obnoxious blights on the river between the Highlands and Catskill.
 
We reached the Pirate Canoe Club a mile south of Poughkeepsie at 7:45 AM just as the current turned against us. After tying up, we walked to the clubhouse and asked the members at the bar if we could stay until the tide turned. They graciously welcomed us and put on a fresh pot of coffee. They served the coffee with donuts and we watched Good Morning America and the Weather Channel on the TV set over the bar. Hurricane Dennis was still stalled off Cape Hatteras.

​Our hosts were proud to tell us about the origins of their club. It was established along Poughkeepsie’s central waterfront but was forced to relocate as a result of urban renewal.  The new clubhouse was perched on a rock jutting out into the river. The docks were connected to the clubhouse by a series of wooden gangways and stairs and there was an overturned canoe inscribed with the club’s name hanging near the entrance road coming into the club. Although founded as a canoe club, powered craft prevailed along the docks. The club had an old crane for seasonally placing and removing dock sections.  Membership was inexpensive by any standard. The drinks here were cheap too. Dan, Steve and Joe decided to walk into town and I stayed behind to organize our gear and to draw and write. A north breeze began to blow and with it, the humidity began to dissipate. An older club member came by in his kayak and visited with me for a while and I asked him about camping on Esopus Island. He thought it would be fine and told me that there was a landing place on the southeast side where we could draw our canoe up onto the island. My partners returned at 11:00 with fresh vegetables for supper and a book for Dan. Joe was elated to have fresh ingredients for tonight’s supper. We had lunch on the hill and caught the beginning of the flood tide at 2:00. Soon, we passed beneath the Wizard of Oz-like Poughkeepsie suspension bridge and the long abandoned railroad bridge keeping close to shore in order to get the most out of the favorable current.

​We came abreast of the Culinary Institute of America and bantered with two students enjoying the river. They bragged that they could cook better than any of us and offered to prove it by preparing some fish for dinner if we could only catch some. We hadn’t brought any fishing gear and sadly couldn’t take them up on this offer. We continued north through the Lange Rack and past Crum Elbow and the Hyde Park train station.
 
Esopus Island was visible straight ahead. We found the landing place on the southeast side amidst dwarfed cedar trees and climbed out at 4:30. After scouting the island we decided to camp here. We unloaded the canoe and then took her out light to explore the island’s shoreline all the way around. Our circumnavigation complete, we set up our camp and more thoroughly explored the island. We found evidence of the island’s history; flint flakes discarded near the river during the process of making tools and weapons, the remnants of a low stone wall perhaps intended to contain sheep, stone foundations for an early aid to navigation and fragments of the sidewheel steamer Point Comfort which failed to see the island and ran up on it early in 1919. There was also plenty of poison ivy and lots of red ants. The island’s vegetation was severely dried out as a result of a hot dry summer and the thin soil covering the island. Many leaves had fallen and those which hadn’t were brown. It was very reminiscent of an Indian summer in October.

We were well north of the leading edge of the salt line and took this opportunity to thoroughly bathe in the river. Once clean, we began dinner. Dan and I sketched the scene in our journals. Dinner was served at sunset and included a massive fresh vegetable salad with radicchio, noodles with spaghetti sauce and fried Spam. We cleaned up at 9:00 and sat around the campfire for a while listening to the din of birds and crickets and sharing our thoughts about the trip. A turkey vulture circled overhead. We reflected upon the subtle unfolding of the river and its surroundings and distant views experienced by travelers in both directions. Joe aptly described our adventure as “a kaleidoscope of marvelous experiences that seemed to glide from one to another.”
 
Some big birds tramped around our camp with heavy feet at night. In the morning, we found what appeared to be a pterodactyl egg on the bluff east of our campsite. It dawned upon us that we had built our camp at the intersection of a busy network of blue heron paths.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 6 of the trip!

​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.

Dan, our bow man, was the one who slept most soundly of all. Last night, it had been his job to keep us pointed in the right direction. The rest of us were blinded by the lantern and could only apply forward motion to the canoe. He worked harder than all of us in wrestling the bow left and right and he literally collapsed when we finally got off the river. Dan had recently graduated from college and became our poet laureate. For him, this trip was the equivalent of Homer’s Odyssey in spirit if not length. It was a test of commitment and a test of resourcefulness and loyalty to the team. Dan often reflected on meaning of our adventure and spoke often of the deep value of living in the moment. He found parallels to our experiences in the works of other poets and authors and was ever grateful to be sharing the journey with us.
 
We were up at dawn and prepared hot cocoa and oatmeal. Our host came over at 7:00 and we had a chance to catch up with him. It turned out that we had just missed the tall ships that visited here last week. One of them, a small bark, stayed at this yard. We chose to wait for the tide to change before departing and this gave us a little time to work out our kinks. I prepared a few sketches of the random deposition of old cranes, pile drivers, winches, gears, worn out boats and tilting pilothouses. We thanked our host profusely and shoved off at 9:30.

The Hudson Highlands
 
There was no wind at first and we were still sore from yesterday’s extreme struggle in Haverstraw Bay. We rounded Indian Point, entered Peekskill Bay and set our course for Dunderberg Mountain at the southern gateway to the Highlands. A tug was pushing a petroleum barge south and we adjusted our course to give the tow plenty of room. When we resumed, an easterly wind picked up and we set our sail for an assist to Iona Island.
 
Myths have attached themselves to Iona Island and Steve experienced some of its powers on previous canoe trips. The island is largely covered by grass and scrub and includes long brick munitions sheds from its previous use as a naval depot and some rock formations, the most notable being a chimney rock at the south end. The island is connected to the west shore by a causeway but this is inaccessible to the public. There is a considerable deer herd on the island and the grass is thick with ticks. Perimeter roads and street lights are maintained for little apparent reason leading to urban legends that the island is home to strategic missile silos. Supernatural occurrences on previous trips, evidence of satanic rituals on the chimney rock and severe storms seemingly rising up out of the island have imbued this place with sinister associations among our small community of paddlers. One wonders if Native Americans or the Dutch experienced similar apprehensions. We are content to leave the island completely alone on this trip and grateful to avoid one of its storms.
 
We passed beneath the Bear Mountain Bridge at noon and struck our sail rig so that we could pass beneath a railroad trestle and enter the Popolopen Creek. The creek served as a landing in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the remains of two schooners were gradually disintegrating here along with the ruins of an eighteenth century mill. During the Revolution, the commanding headlands immediately north and south of the mouth of this creek were fortified in the American initiative to block British passage through the Highlands. Nevertheless, forts Montgomery and Clinton were overrun. The chain boom at Fort Montgomery was breached by the British warships and the American vessels were abandoned. Although earthworks and foundations remain at the fort sites, there is no visible evidence of this history from our canoe; only the two railroads on the east and west shores. The engineers blow their horns for us as we salute oncoming trains by pumping our paddles.
 
After re-entering the river, we paddled for Sugar Loaf Mountain. West Point became visible, but a direct approach was blocked by Con Hook, a low spit of land jutting out from the west shore. After rounding this obstruction, we paddled beneath the ramparts of West Point. Surprisingly, we found sunbathers at the water’s edge beneath a rock face incised with the deeply carved letters spelling “YORKTOWN.”  The roof of one of the Academy buildings was painted with the message “BEAT AIR FORCE.” The ruins of Fort Constitution could still be seen on the east side of the river at the point where a second and more famous chain boom protected the river above here from British attack.
 
The 1917 wooden tour boat Commander approached us and her tour director engaged us in a brief conversation on the PA before wishing us well and departing. Storm King Mountain loomed over us to the west. The mountain is scarred by a road ledge cut out of live rock and shoulders burnt by a forest fire touched off by unexploded ordnance from the days when shells were fired into it from the proving grounds across the river at Cold Spring. Breakneck Mountain stood to our right, gnarled and disfigured by huge creases, veins and fractures. Steve observed that with a little imagination, one can see anguished and tortured faces all over its western face. Englishman John Maude made a similar observation from his sloop in 1800 and named this “Face Mountain” in the journal he published in 1826. It is unlikely that he was the first to see the faces.
 
At 3:00 PM, we completed our passage through the Highlands. We made a brief stop at Pollepel Island, the site of Bannerman’s Arsenal and lodge. The castle keep, a baroque concoction of brick and concrete was built between 1905 and 1918 and stood five stories high. Although burned out long ago, it retained its open and turreted walls, outlines of a moat, docks, and castellated drawbridges and was festooned with grapevines and a healthy crop of poison ivy. In addition to the unstable walls, additional hazards were said to have included concealed pits, unexploded ordnance, rattlesnakes and ticks. The island guards the northern entrance to the Highlands and is associated with a long tradition of superstition dating back to the Dutch colony if not earlier.
 
Recently installed no trespassing signs with dire threats convinced us to continue our journey even though all of us had explored the island on previous canoe trips. We were followed by a thick cloud of blood sucking flies for more than a mile up the river. Steve struck out viscously after being bled by one and broke his paddle.
 
Newburgh Bay
 
Although high tide ended, the current along the east shore of the river still flowed north.  We also had a slight south breeze at our backs so we set our sail. We passed several possible campsites along the east shore including Deming Point, a large abandoned brickyard north of Beacon and Pete Seeger’s sloop club with the pine tree coming out of the roof. On the opposite shore, a few landmarks could be seen at Newburgh, but the scene was dominated by new construction and swaths of vacant land where the historic center of the town stood before so-called urban renewal. We passed beneath the two ugly I-84 spans carrying traffic across the river and eastward toward Connecticut and lamented the loss of the ferry they replaced and the views that they marred. We reached the Chelsea Yacht Club at 5:30, just as the ebb tide began to work against us. Bill, one of the club’s officers, welcomed us but sent us to the showers immediately. When we were fit to be in polite company again, he invited us to dine on crabs and camp on the club’s lawn overnight.
 
The Chelsea Yacht Club began in the first years of the twentieth century as an ice boat club. The New York Central Railroad sold the club a thin piece of made land west of its tracks and a clubhouse and boat shed were built. The social hall was loaded with burgees, models and interesting river souvenirs. A massive willow tree stood on the shore next an old iron capstan salvaged from a sloop or schooner. Many sailboats were at moorings here and the dinghies needed to reach them were stored neatly in racks along the train tracks.
 
As we watched the sailboats swing to the changing tide at slightly different angles depending upon their distance from shore, Bill explained that the ebb tide is first experienced nearest the shoreline; at the center of the river, momentum carries the flood tide current upstream for a period of time beyond high tide. He confirmed our observation that the tides were behaving a little differently over the past several days. He attributed this to a full moon and the influence of Hurricane Dennis.
 
Bill and his friends retrieved their crab traps and boiled up a mess of fresh blue crabs in our honor. The crabs thrive in the brackish water at the bottom of the bay and are baited with chicken scraps. We supplemented the impromptu feast with pasta, spaghetti sauce and fried spam. After watching a gorgeous sunset and cleaning up, we thanked our hosts, pitched our tents and turned in for the night. The generosity of river people seems unlimited.
 
Whoever said that passenger trains are dead in America? I challenge that person to spend a night in a tent at Chelsea! Our tents were less than 50 feet from the tracks. The trains shook the earth and sounded as if they were about to run all of us down. Amtrak, Metro North, they were all the same. They lit up the night in their paths and hurtled past with blaring air horns which changed pitch the moment they rushed away. The long West Shore freight trains with their laboring locomotives made almost as much noise even though they were almost a mile across the water. Dan had nightmares of awakening on the tracks just in time to be run over by speeding expresses.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 5 of the trip!

​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!​