Kayaking the Hudson River. Our three-day trip from Albany to Kingston, New York
June 13, 2018
Living in New York, The Hudson River is always there. It is the landmark at the edge of my awareness.
Two months ago, my friend Nathaniel sent me an email inviting me to join him on a multi-day Kayak trip exploring the Hudson. I had been attending the off-season kayak practice pool sessions hosted by Matt Kane of Prime Paddlesports, so I thought “what could go wrong?” and promptly reached out to Matt to rent the necessary gear.
Having grown up in the warm waters of Miami’s Biscayne Bay, I perpetually feel a deep longing to get back to the water. Since I moved nine-years-ago to the Rivertowns, 35-miles North of New York City, I have been looking for a way to get on the river. This seemed like an amazing opportunity.
At the surface level, the Hudson is an industrial corridor — alive and working at all hours. Underneath, the river is a storyteller.
To hear the stories, you have only to slow down and listen.
When you move slow, you see worlds hidden in plain site. They are there always, patiently waiting, hidden only by our speed.
As Nathaniel relates in his excellent telling of our trip, we over estimated the number of miles we could paddle in a day. For much of the trip we were racing tides, storms, and the setting sun to find sites where we could camp for the night. Every so often we would stop, look around and listen. When we did, the river would tell us stories.
As we set out on our first day, we still had fantasies of paddling the 90 miles back to Cold Spring, where we had left my car. We quickly found that even with the tides going our direction, that was an overly ambitious goal — at least for novice kayakers given the wind and rain we encountered.
May 21, 2018, 8:07 AM
The boats are loaded on Nathaniel’s roof. We are headed toward Albany. I am excited and nervous. I have never taken a trip like this. The straps holding down our boats are rattling on the car.
We are crossing the Hudson on the Newburgh–Beacon Bridge (NY I-84 North). From this height, the river is huge. What will it feel like to be on it?
I am standing at the foot of the water at Albany’s Corning City Preserve boat ramp waiting for Nathaniel and Dan — Nathaniel’s mother’s cousin’s husband who very graciously let us park one of our cars at his house — to get back from dropping off Nathaniel’s car. I am ready to get started.
The first hour has been mostly industrial. We passed the Port of Albany with its symmetrical oil tanks, tugs, freighters, and barges. In the distance, I can hear a crane with a giant claw moving mulch from the mountain made by dump trucks on to a barge.
We have found the remains of a long set of rocks and pillars. They look like they might have once carried railroad tracks. They run along the Eastern bank for many miles.
The geese are barking. The birds are all around us. I am drifting slowly backward.
The river has opened and quieted. On the East bank are trees. On the West are big stately mansions. The breeze is cool and constant. My mind is clear.
1:37 PM. First break, East Greenbush, New York. We are not as far as we had hoped.
There is a marina off in the distance. It feels impossibly far away.
Still moving toward the marina. Now we can see an overpass beyond it. “That bridge in the distance is probably our halfway point,” Nathaniel tells me.
My arms are tired. My legs are stiff. The river is wide and long.
We have finally made the Castleon on Hudson Marina. There are two guys on a small boat lazily fishing. The sky is perfect.
“It’s 3:07. I think we are about halfway,” Nathaniel tells me. “Looks like we have gone about 10 miles. Castleton was the 10 mile point.
Maybe I overestimated what we could do in a day. Do you want to dig in and see what we can do?”
“Sure”, I replied.
40 minutes later, I need to stop to pee and stretch.
It’s 6 PM. We have made good progress. Unfortunately, we still have five to six miles to go and there are only two and a half hours to sunset.
We are getting closer. Nathaniel tells me he thinks we are 4 miles away from our planned camping spot. I am very aware of the faster means of transport passing us. Trains…four-wheel off-road-bikes…ducks.
“I think I see our island,” Nathaniel calls out on the radio. “Yep, that’s our island.”
“That’s awesome.”
We paddled almost 25 miles today. The last 3 or 4 were a slog and I wasn’t totally sure we would make it by nightfall. But we did.
My body is still rocking, even though I am sitting stationary on a sandy beach. In the distance, dogs are barking. A train is passing somewhere beyond.
It’s 3:30 AM. I woke up with a full bladder. I peed and am now back in the tent.
May 22, 2018
Our first night was great. The river was beautiful and our campsite was quaint. A levy protected us where we slept on the beach. This looks to be the remains of a decommissioned state park.
Unfortunately, we are not on the island we were aiming for last night. We didn’t make it quite as far as we had hoped.
It’s raining as we start. We are scheduled to go 35 miles today. Feels like a huge stretch, but we will see how it goes.
It took us an extra 40 minutes this morning to get to last night’s goal.
The rain is falling. I hear pops on my hat. It’s nice though, all is quiet except for the rain.
One thing is very apparent: the Hudson is an industrial river. It feels more like a series of interconnected bays than a river. Freighters and barges frequently pass, dwarfing us as we rock in their wake.
Every so often, I get into a few minutes of active meditation. When I do my mind clears and the paddling becomes effortless.
Then my shoulder begins to hurt.
The rain is picking up and the wind is in our face. There is a line of black clouds just East of us. It looks like we are going to be paddling into a squall.
Riding the river, you see the contrasts that are often hidden — beautiful houses with big lawns next to industrial plants dotted with tanks.
On closer look, the houses are big but not stately. They are old and not in great repair.
We have stopped for lunch on Rodgers Island Wildlife Management Area. All around is lush green. There is a skipping stone beach, a blanket of moss, gentle hills and tall trees.
Paradise.
The wind has continued but the scenery has changed. On our right are the blue hills of the Catskill Mountains. Along the river are long green stretches and rolling farms.
As we paddle against the wind, I find myself daydreaming about sailing.
The sun is getting low. We are miles from our planned camping spot and finding no alternatives. On the Eastern bank, railroad tracks run on forever. To the West are houses and farms.
We have stopped a few times to check out the few potential spots on the Eastern bank. Deterred by the thought of camping next to train tracks, we keep going.
After hours of slogging through rain and wind and chop, desperate to find somewhere to camp, the sun breaks through the clouds.
“I swear to god, only ten more minutes. I promise,” Nathaniel tells me. Famous last words.
We have finally found an island. We still have to find a spot to pull up the boats and a place to camp, but our most strenuous work is done.
We found a spot up on the Eastern ridge of the island. Our tents are on top of small plants and shrubs. The wind outside is howling*. When I close my eyes I am still paddling.”
My dreams are almost unbearable. When I close my eyes, we are paddling as hard as we can. My arms and chest are burning and the wind and waves are pushing us backwards.
May 23, 2018
I woke at 1:30 and 4 to pee. I finally folded my towel under my pillow which raised up my neck and then I slept well.
For breakfast I had my remaining two oranges, the last of the granola, a slice of bread, and the last of the peanut butter. “Good morning sunshine,” I sing to myself, “it’s a brand new day.”
Nathaniel quips, “I propose we stay here for the next two days and rest up. How’s does that sound?”
We didn’t stay for two days, but we did reset our expectations. Instead of paddling hard to make our goal of getting back to Cold Spring (still 35 miles down river), we decided to slow down and listen.
It’s a good thing we did. This island is beautiful and has a lot to say.
“I just saw a 2' fish jump 5' in the air,” Nathaniel calls out on the radio.
And so we start our final day — headed for Kingston instead of Cold Spring. We have a tail wind and the tide, but still my boat seems to have more drag today.
The elements are finally all aligned: The sky is a brilliant blue. The clouds are low, but in the distance, and the current is propelling us forward. It’s a great day to be alive.
We have stopped for lunch at the Charles Rider Park on the Southwest side of the Rip Van Winkle bridge. The light is warm and beautiful.
We are in our final appraoch to Kingston, where we will put out. The river is now still and I am drifting slowly downstream.
Nathaniel points out an industrial site on the Western bank that looks abandoned. There is a half submerged barge in front of what must have been a dock, and a few deteriorating posts wrapped with the remains of thick rope.
“Want to go check it out,” he asks over the radio.
Definitely.
We hike through the weeds and come to an old service road. It’s pitted and broken by small pools of water.
After a few wrong turns we get to the main part of the site.
Incredible graffiti covers every inch within reach. It’s likely that only a few people have ever seen these paintings. I feel very lucky to be one of them.
As we pulled up to the docks at the Kingston waterfront, Dan was waiting for us. As if he knew I had been talking for three days about ending the trip with a big meal, he graciously insisted on feeding us at the Old Savanah Cajun style restaurant on the waterfront.
I don’t think I have ever tasted a better beer or po-boy and Dan was nice enough to listen while we recounted our adventures — and share some of his own.
Nathaniel and Dan are driving back to Albany to get Nathaniel’s car. I am waiting with the boats.
As I do, I explore the Riverport Wooden Boat School at the Hudson River Maritime Museum.
The museum is cool, but the school is amazing. There is an incredible workshop where students are hand-building a variety of wooden boats including the Onrust, a fully operational replica of the Dutch sailing ship Captain Adrian Block used to explore these waters in 1611 and 1613 — just a few years after Henry Hudson had mapped the area for the Dutch.
The boats are back on the roof of Nathaniel’s car and we are driving back to Cold Spring. As we drive Nathaniel is asking me questions like, “ok, favorite movie?” This makes me smile as I take it as a sign that even though we have just spent three days together, he still wants to get to know me more.
Becoming closer friends with Nathaniel, I reflect, was one of the best parts of this trip. As a full time working dad of young kids, living as a transplant in a suburb of New York City, it can be difficult to make new close friends. Everybody is short on time and to deepen friendships you have to take the time to build up a commonality of shared experiences.
I am glad we took the time.
I guess I feel the same way about the river.
