Meeting the Hudson

by E. Marmer
posted Dec 8, 2018

I was personally introduced to the Hudson River this past autumn. Not down by New York City, where a personal introduction to that expansive maw, that sparkling, churning, briny phenomenon bristling with industry, transport and technology, is not possible; but up by the Hudson Highlands, where the river narrows to a manageable, gorgeous, natural body, breathtaking and accessible. Not suspecting I had been missing out on a beautiful friendship, I discovered her spirit hiding in plain sight. The Gemini in me recognized her immediately: a spirit both wild and calming, unpredictable and reassuring, changeable and constant. You can meet her too. Just go kayaking.

Though I have been on sailboats, motorboats, cruise ships, rowboats and canoes, nothing prepared me for kayaking on the Hudson. First there is the sheer boldness of it, which only really hits you when it becomes a reality: that a slim plastic or fiberglass craft and one’s own sense of balance and rhythm (hopefully, in working order) are all that carry a suddenly very tiny you along on this famous waterway. Next comes the congratulatory realization that an act of agency brought you to this moment, as in Wow! Aren’t I awesome for thinking of doing this? I’m a do-er! Then, ultimately comes the humbling power of being so close to the river’s surface, for there I was at the water line, with legs inside my craft halfway below the water, and hands occasionally dipping in along with the paddle. I was touching the Hudson, and all the fish, snakes, algae, and disintegrated or rotted forms that had ever passed through her. For most of my life I had seen the Hudson on a weekly basis, taking the river for granted, yet now was wholly transformed by simply being in it. I was no longer me, but an organism, a water bug, an air molecule, a floating stick, a native of Earth, feeling all of life flow around me and through me, and knowing that, whatever I was, all that I was mutely and reverently experiencing had been there, witnessed and not witnessed, for millennia.

Having never kayaked before, nor placed myself quite so vulnerably on a powerful, moving river, I had the sense to join a tour with a friend for this experience, out of Cold Spring, New York, led by Hudson River Expeditions. Our guides, Brian and Ken, were expert kayakers who brought an easy energy to their task, commenting and coaching when it was needed but leaving a wide berth when it was wanted. My fellow kayakers were always in view, but I had so much welcome space around me to take it all in, to thrill to the perfectly unformed rocky cliffs, the woodland tinged with just a hint here and there of the fall colors to come, the occasional bald eagle and the clean, hard blue sky. And when the change to the conditions came, unexpectedly, in the last 20 minutes of the tour, our guides were right there to see us safely back. As badass as I liked to believe I was, out there in the gathering darkness, battling the wind coming right against me, and the now very choppy waves sloshing right into my kayak, in truth my usual assumptive I-can-do-this attitude was being sorely tested. I understood that while I was likely to be fine, I’d be damned lucky to get to shore without capsizing. And there, thankfully, was Brian, alongside me suddenly, telling me how to adjust my paddle to get more power, and then stroking with me, giving me wordless but essential support, the way a Lamaze partner breathes you through birth. With about fifty feet to go, I was back to feeling like an Amazon. Yes!! I CAN do this! It’s one of my favorite feelings.

As we pulled our kayaks out of the water, Brian expressly acknowledged the challenge, saying “Well, you’ve just experienced every water condition there is.” Despite trembling slightly with wet and chill, my inner Amazon happily flexed her muscles and beamed with triumph. And now that I know what it’s all about, I can’t wait for the spring when I can go back for more. Having made the Hudson’s acquaintance in this more intimate way, I now find myself wondering… would we recognize each other down by Manhattan? Would she be cordial at least to my tiny speck of a vessel, where she could so easily remain hidden, anonymous?

Anyway, get thee to a kayak. It’s bewitching to meet the river. She brings you right in.