Berger's New York: A Frozen Hudson

Remember in The Day After Tomorrow where people walked on the Hudson and through the mouth of the harbor in search of someplace warmer? Yeah, and how you also thought that couldn't happen in real life because of the salinity of the Hudson? According to Meyer Berger's column, the Hudson used to freeze over all the time:

***

January 19, 1955

A group of middle-aged gentlemen in town got talking about the weather the other day and how modern winters are sissy periods compared with those they passed through in youth.

One stubborn fellow insisted that in 1918, when World War I was on, he and a whole group of small-fry from Ninetieth Street walked across the frozen Hudson to a point on the New Jersey shore--Fort Lee he thought it was.

The talk swelled to uproar at the bar, one faction holding that there has been no bank-to-bank freeze below Yonkers in modern times, though such a phenomenon was common in the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Newspaper files show that a munitions worker named Fred Gabay crossed on the ice from Hastings in Westchester to a point on the New Jersey side in a free-up on Jan. 2, 1918. The same file indicated a Hudson River freeze-up just five years earlier but didn't say how far down it came.

The files also showed a photograph, published Jan. 13, 1918, showing Dr. Lee de Forest, the inventor, and Miss Nancy Mayo crossing the Hudson opposite 230th Street, New York City.

Edward Rindwood Hewitt of Gramercy Square, son of Abram Hewitt, who was Mayor of New York in 1887, remembers that the Hudson froze almost every year around that period, mostly about February.

It sticks in his mind, he says, because he and the other silk-stocking kids used to sail-skate from somewhere around Yonkers down to Manhattan's upper reaches. They did it year after year.

Mr. Hewitt, pushing 90 down, recalls clearly that one winter day in 1875 it was the East River that froze, and probably both rivers. That freeze is fixed in his memory because the cash boy for his grandfather, Peter Cooper, due at the office in Water Street that morning, didn't show up until mid-afternoon.

It turned out that ice had stopped the East Twenty-third Street-Greenpoint ferry, so the cash boy had come down the hard way. He had walked from Cooper's Bushwick glue factory to Greenpoint, then to the Manhattan shore and all the way downtown without wetting his feet.

The last ice-up anyone could remember was during the record cold of February, 1934, a bitter depression year when the thermometer only once struggled above freezing. By that time, though, river traffic was so heavy that there was no shore-to-shore ice bridge, only heavy floe accumulation.

***

That would've been so amazing to see. I need to get over to the Hudson when it snows, because I've never seen it like that before.

Camping at Denning's Point

Beautiful sunset-colored views from Denning's Point.

Since I've been camping with experienced campers and I've been wanting to get away, I decided to take charge and organize my own trip. After getting three other people—Josh, Sarah and Tyler—to come along and picking our location and game plan—Denning's Point by way of the MetroNorth and walking—and we were off.

Originally, I had planned to catch the 8:51 a.m. train out of Grand Central Saturday morning, but after Josh reminded me about the party we were attending the night before, I changed my mind. Sarah, Josh and I met at the clock at Grand Central at noon, with plans to catch the 12:51 p.m. train out to Beacon. Tyler, who was running late, just made the train. The trip was off to a perfect start.


The way to Denning's Point.

Arriving at Cold Spring at 2:15, we exited the station and looked for the best way onto the tracks without attracting too much attention to ourselves. Reaching the end of the parking lot, we slipped through the end of the fence and walked through brush until we reached the open space of the MetroNorth railroad tracks. We followed the main tracks and then continued onto what seemed to be an abandoned line that headed to our right.


Making our way to the Hudson.

All I had to direct me was the map Rob drew for me, pointing out how to get to Denning's Point via railroad tracks and where our proposed campsites and a creek lined with abandoned factories. Somehow, we made it to Denning's Point, with a sign about no winter camping greeting us. Making a left, we found ourselves off the trail and along the coast. Though the views were gorgeous, we had to duck through low branches with huge bags and step gingerly on slippery rocks. After walking this way for a while, we finally reached our camp site. Granted, it was the second of the two Rob pointed out to us, but this site was better because it avoided the wind.


The view from our campsite.

Looking across, we could see the flat factories of Newburgh against the foliage of the rising mountains behind it. In the foreground, the Hudson lapped at the sand beach beneath our feet. Rocks provided the perfect sitting place. We were surrounded by plenty of firewood. There was a little nook that led up the trail that became home to our tents, despite the ground being uneven, we made do somehow. Setting up our tents took a while, because the purple "party tent" was huge, had no stakes and weren't sure where all the sticks went through, but it was done. After unpacking and repacking the backpack, we were off to explore.


The factory.

First stop: abandoned warehouse near the beginning of the trail. To get inside, we made our way through an opening in the fence and through thorns, taking it like the brave souls we were. Inside, the factory's first floor was basically empty—with the exception of tagged walls, plants and a hanging rope in the middle which Tyler made use of by swinging around and climbing up. After exploring the rooms filled with debris, our attentions wandered to the staircase outside. The entrance to the staircase was locked, but we decided to climb into the staircase by way of broken windows. Alas, we couldn't get into the second floor because of another locked door.


Pile of logs.

Outside of the factory, there were many, many piles: bricks, logs, bigger logs, rusted metal, random machinery and packs of fertilizer. Heading east after looking through the piles, we found ourselves on the MetroNorth tracks again. Going south, we eventually found our way to what I assume was Fishkill Creek. Rob said there were more abandoned factories along its shores, but we weren't up to it. Instead, we sat atop a jutting block of metal and looked at the marsh and foliage under the sunset-soaked skies.


Sunset over Denning's Point.

Since it was getting dark, we headed back to our campsite and started our fire. After a shaky start, the fire burned bright and strong. Josh started cooking our dinner: cheeseburgers, and Tyler provided our beverages: beer, and we had water from before. Talking, eating and smoking, we kept the fire going until around 10 p.m. where we doused the fire with the Hudson and off to bed we went.



Now, I'm not normally a paranoid person, but the combination of being out there alone without anyone else, all the noises of nature and a little indulgence earlier makes me extremely suspicious. Among the rustling of the leaves and lapping of the water, I swear I heard something brush by. My first thought was, of course, a crazy man with a knife, maybe that man with the poodle we kept passing by the day before. Josh heard the same noise and I made him go check, with the headlamp and knife, but he couldn't find anything. On the beach the next morning, we found animal prints. Later on, Sarah saw a deer wandering up the trail.


Animal prints. See, I'm not crazy!


Pouring out the apple-coffee.

We celebrated the morning with a breakfast of slice apples on bagels and apple coffee (Tyler's invention). Packing up, we headed out to our next adventure: (possibly) Breakneck Ridge and the Cold Spring MetroNorth station.


Hudson thinkin', with Bannerman in the background.

Thus began our railroad hike. We passed by Fishkill Creek again, found a dead goose, wondered at Bannersman Island a.k.a. Poppell Island (the next site of an upcoming adventure?), explored a pipe, tried stuffing the huge sleeping bag in an abandoned suitcase with no luck, threw and kicked rocks into the Hudson and became accustomed to the hissing sound of the rails before the trains passed by.


Breakneck Ridge stop.

Finally, we reached an overhead bridge where a man told us we were at Breakneck Ridge. We sat by the makeshift platform (the stop is used primarily for hikers such as ourselves) and decided what to do next. Being too tired from our trek so far, we decided to continue onto Cold Spring.

That hike seemed to take forever. We seemed to pass by more people—hikers from Breakneck I guessed—and soon the 9D joined the railroad tracks. Because we assumed the parking lot up ahead was the Cold Spring station, we left the tracks and our feet felt the kiss of smooth pavement. To our dismay, however, it wasn't the station, but the Stony Point State Park instead. We still had awhile to go, but at least we were near Cold Spring.



Walking through Cold Spring, I could understand its appeal—small town village with cute stores and streets—but I couldn't understand why we passed by so many tourists. After walking towards the Hudson and walking through an underground passageway, we finally, finally reached the Cold Spring station, just missing a train, but it didn't matter.

Getting on the crowded train, Josh, Tyler and I made ourselves comfortable on the floor while Sarah sat in the seat across from us. We took naps and anticipated our next meal: McDonalds, which we ate as soon as we got out of Grand Central. Our stomachs filled with well-earned Angus burgers and French fries, we departed home.



Thanks to Rob for: helping me pick out the location, showing off his cartography by drawing me my extremely trusty map, lending me his backpack, stove, fuel and pots, opening Pier 40 for me at the last minute and just general helping me out. Thanks to Josh for helping me buy everything, figure out the food situation, cook and help me carry stuff. And thanks to Adam and Sam for lending us tents, sleeping bags, headlight and knives.

Check out our route here.


The trusty map Rob drew me.

Ossining Wanderin'

Ossining (a.k.a. Ossining-on-the-Hudson).

Train up the Hudson where we rowed down to the city, the cliffs of the Palisades, New Jersey/New York, past Sing Sing Prison, the sort-of-Alcatraz of these parts with its layers of walls adorned with wires and bars, right by Louis Engel playground right by that Hudson where we discovered the SuperNova and gaggles of geese, this walkable, hilly suburban village-on-the-Hudson (named for appeal) where cars aren't out of place, coconut/lemon/raspberry talian ices at Vinnie's and talking about Mel Gibson taking over the world, Sabbath dinner outside, watching Scrabble games and reading the Times, looking for "On Language" and "The Ethicist," basement escapades, too-much-ice cream and lime sherbet, waterfront protection and Alaskan adventures with a second viewing of The Simpsons, chocolate milkshakes, dried mangoes, split personalities with Fight Club, fruit smoothies, a reintroduction to China via Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, squeezing in Arrested Development, the most stars I've seen all year long, my introduction to the band of the Milky Way, night walk to triangle park, strolling around Maryknoll where we walked with deer and a bunny and walked through his elementary school days, early morning train rides home until next, next time...

Croton Point-Pier 40 Camping & Rowing Adventure

For myself I choose to listen to the river for a while, thinking river thoughts, before joining the night and the stars. — Edward Abbey


The first row from Mother's Beach. Photo by Rob.

Riding along the Hudson in the MetroNorth heading to Ossining on Saturday, June 26, I smiled every time the sun (appearing after a spontaneous thunderstorm and being drenched in Tompkins Square Park) gleamed on its water. Instead of taking the train back, I would be in the Hudson with nothing but panels of wood between the water and I.

Since taking/joining Lang on the Hudson and with my newfound desire for adventures, I've been wanting to go on a huge camping and rowing trip, going somewhere far from New York and rowing down waters that are not (that) familiar to myself. I was pushing for this through the class since January.

This was finally accomplished June 17th through the 19th. Led by Rob Buchanan, the great man who does everything, I, along with my friends, Lang kids, Floating the Apple-affiliated people, and a a guitar-playing, dumpster-diving, bike-riding guy named Roger who stumbled upon us in Westchester, rowed about 36 miles from Croton Point Park (in Westchester) to two stopovers in New York, then to our camping site in Alpine Picnic Area, New Jersey, and finally to Pier 40 in Manhattan over the course of two days.

Being the smart girl that I am, I wore a dress because I wanted to look cute (sometimes, my girliness just needs to show off) and I forgot we were rowing that Sunday. I rowed anyway because I wouldn't let that stop me, but I am also never wearing tube tops again. After loading up the boats, we rowed a little further south down from Mother's Beach in Croton Point and landed on a small strip of beach, complete with a nearly-broken-down picnic table and a family with a little boy playing with a dog.

Croton Point sunset.

Lugging our bags and various equipments, we climbed up a steep trail to the camping ground, where we set up our tents and grill and dined for the night. Taking a walk back to the beach, Jon and I started a campfire, ate marshmallows and Hershey Kisses and waded in the river. Later on, Josh and I wandered up the river along the coast where we sat, talked, threw rocks and sticks into the river and looked at the stars. One of my goals in life is to see so many stars in the sky that I won't know what to do with myself. That night was getting closer.

The next morning, the sun rose slowly, coating the sky with pale oranges and pinks until the deep summer skies took over. After our breakfast of bagels, breads, and not-sweet-enough coffee, we were off on the Hudson again heading towards the call of the city. This time, I got to coxswain which is always fun. After a quick stop at Hook Mountain, we continued on to Nyack for groceries for the night and a little "upstate" wandering. Even if it's 8 a.m., it's never a good idea to walk around in a bikini top.


Crossing under the Tappan Zee Bridge. Photo from Frank.

We rowed under the ever-gorgeous Tappan Zee Bridge (which, from the distance at night, is merely a flat line of lights. You’d think they’d want to play up the design features of the bridge, but it makes for less light pollution and that’s always a good thing). Because Rob wanted to wait for the tide to go out way, we stopped for four hours at the Italian Gardens south of Piermont Pier within the Palisades Trail in New York.

The heat was getting to us, so a bunch of us jumped in the water. Now, rocks along the Hudson tend to be covered in algae, making the rocks slippery. (I should know—in Nyack, I tried walking along this swamp/still water inlet, and I slipped on a rock, cutting my knee and elbow.) Walking in the Hudson with these rocks didn’t seem like a good idea, but it didn’t matter—the water felt so good. And once we got out far enough, we walked along cool and soft mud. Jon tried teaching me how to swim, and I think I could possibly save myself if I had to.


Peanut Leap Falls.

Then Jon, Peter, Eva, Cade, Frank and myself wandered up the Great Stairs next to Peanut Leap Falls (more on that later) where we followed the white blaze up and up. We were in search of the Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory for water, but Jon and I headed back to Peanut Leap Falls. Standing under the falls, the sun was right above the top and shone down on us perfectly. Also, I saw a chipmunk (I get excited with I see non-New York City creatures). Jon and I wanted to drink out of the Peanut Leap but we decided not to. This was a smart decision because later, when Rob, Suresh and Frank were lounging under the Falls, they drank the water. When they looked up, they found a dead fawn stuck in the rocks.

After unsuccessfully trying to take a nap and read (Cervantes’ Don Quixote, it seemed fitting), Josh and I walked up towards and through Jersey by way of the Giant Stairs, or the Rock Scramble. Josh pointed out a dead hawk lying right on the rocks. Of course, Josh picked up the bird with his stick. This trail was tough because I wore flipflips, but I kept on. We ran into Rob and he told us about four kids who were lost further south. They were going to head over to our camp for water and food. Then we headed back and sprawled in the boats, chatting and eating cookies. The Lost Boys, as we dubbed them, found us and ate and drank happily. Wandering up the Palisades, they were ill-prepared and soon were lost and didn’t know how to get back. We found out they were parked at the Alpine Boat Basin/Picnic Area which was our next stop. We offered them a lift in our boats back and they gladly took it. We put them to work and made them row as well. The water was tougher and choppier because of the wind, but we managed.


Relaxing at the Alpine Picnic Area.

At the Alpine Picnic Area (we got permission to spend the night there), we set up our tents/sleeping bags/blankets and soon got to work on our delicious dinner of sausages (chicken, thank you Jon), eggplant, corn and other various veggies and all washed down with beer. Then Jon and I started and combined a new fire with the grill fire and it was spectacular. Everything was wonderfully tinted with campfire light. Roger strummed away on his guitar, Jon and I played Thunder Log (companion game to Thundernova), Rob, Josh and I took pictures, and we all munched on sweets and just talked.

Jon and I decided to get as close as we could to the George Washington Bridge past the Alpine Boat Basin. The deep orange glow of New York City was in the air, tainting the darkness of the sky. There were fewer stars out here, it was kinda sad.


Campfire at Alpine Picnic Area. Photo by Josh.

With our last 4:45 a.m. wake up call, we ate as much as we could so our boat load was lighter. Once again, we shoved off and our goal this time was to reach Pier 40 at 11 a.m. Since I’m competitive, I wanted to beat the other boats. Sometimes, I was successful, other times, I was not. Rob’s boat tended to lead the way though.

As the morning ticked by, more and more barges and water taxis floated by, creating more wakes for us to cut through. Getting hungry and in need of a break, we tried to dock our boats at some Whole Foods in Jersey across Manhattan. Because the tide wasn’t high enough, Rob and Josh were kind enough to jump out of their boat and trudge through that wonderful and aromatic New Jersey sledge and get everyone coffees and croissants. Then we were on our way again.


Taking a rowing break by the George Washington Bridge. Photo from Frank.

Rowing along the river, I realized how unattractive the Jersey coast is. Being waterfront land, it has a lot of potential for great things. Instead it is home to overdeveloped and underdeveloped properties. There was a row of houses tried really hard to look San Franciscan and many other architectural disasters.

With a quick bathroom break on Hoboken Beach or Maxwell House Beach, we crossed the river and finally arrived at Pier 40. With callused hands (including two water blisters) and bruised, injured, insect-bitten and sore bodies, we accomplished our mission. And afterwards, I got a haircut because it seemed proper.

It was just great being out there outside out New York City proper without any of its everyday distractions and conveniences. I didn’t use my cell phone at all during those two days and it felt good. I barely noticed what time it was, looking at my watch only occasionally. This trip was something I wanted badly and I think everyone should hazard at attempt. Now I need to do something else along those same lines.

Pausing at Hoboken Beach. Photo by Rob.

Links for more:
My pictures
Rob's Take
Peter's Take
Josh's Take
Josh's pictures

Trekking Through Bear Mountain State Park

The view from atop.

Covered with bug bites and cuts and with sore, sore legs, I returned from my very first camping/hiking journey on Saturday, June 9th.

Jon, my hiking/camping partner/connoisseur and I, his hiking/camping novice, set out from Ossining to Bear Mountain Park, Rockland County, rocking out to The Office theme song and Cake. Parking in the Hikers' Parking Lot, we made our way through the 1777 W trail which eventually turned into the double-blue-blaze/single-blue-blaze/the Appalachian trail. We trekked on and upwards—our goal was the top of this mountain, but it seemed to continue on and on. Every time we reached a ledge, there was always another ledge off in the near-distance. And, being the kind of people we were, we had to reach that ledge. Then the next ledge. And the next ledge after that. And so on.

Despite all my city walking and Hudson rowing, I tired quickly. Thankfully, I wore sneakers (a first for this summer—I've been sticking to flip-flops, casual flats and low-heels or fancy red heels for special occasions/job interviews) which made it much easier. I convinced myself to march on. Instead of thinking of where we were going (which would have been useless anyway, since we didn't know where exactly we wanted to stop), I concentrated on the right-then-&-now. I just focused on where my feet landed. I tried to not ask for breaks—I wanted to continue on, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something like this. And I did.


Sunlight through the woods.

Everything had brilliant shades of green and brown with touches of colors—white, pink and yellow flowers, brightly colored (and probably poisonous) bugs and occasional red berries. The rays of the sun leaked through the trees and hit everything at just the right angle. The air was heavily humid—we were drenched with sweat and drank water often. I had the urge to take my shirt off, but I don't think it would've been appropriate to walk around in a bra.

We took breaks and sat on huge rocks, enjoying the views and munching on cranberries, peaches, granola and chocolate chips (you gotta have chocolate) and drank water. We passed by several creeks and, once again being the kind of people we were, we refilled our bottles with the mostly clean and more refreshingly cool water.


This tree fell against the other tree. It made creaking noises because of the wind.

I was surprised when my cell phone rang, but it turned out to be a wrong number. On our way through the Appalachian Trail/blue blaze trail, we ran into a guy who has been on the Appalachian Trail since May 14th. He was aiming for the Delaware. Jon and I took a break and let him pass by. When we continued, I noticed the holes left by his hiking poles. I also found an animal skull, though we're not sure what animal.


Hazy sunset.

Jon explained to me what blazes and cairns were. He also pointed things that I would have missed because I have bad vision (tiny, brown toads and deer off in the distance). He showed me what poison ivy looked like, since I've never encountered it before. I probably stomped through poison ivy and as of yet, I’ve felt nothing.

When we realized the trail was leading us down the mountain, we decided to go off the path and explore a little more. Walking through bushes and deadened, bleached trees with mostly open skies above us, we wandered up and up and finally decided to settle on a nice patch of soft moss. Jon showed me how to set up his tent. We used a tarp and rain fly because it was supposed to thunderstorm that night. Looking around, we realized despite our efforts to stray from the path, we were on another marked trail, the red circle blaze.


Cooking dinner.

Then we walked over to another clearing, with a better view of the sun. Jon set up our campfire using the New York Times sports section as I gathered dry, dry wood. The sun was beginning to set and the sky was hazy and getting darker ever so slowly. The sun was huge and red and surrounded by thinly-stretched clouds. The heat from the fire felt nice against our dried-sweat skins. Using a flat branch, we warmed up the steak we brought and tried to roast carrots. Venus (I believe that's the planet visible in the sky now, if not, then, I don't know) was clearly there. Alas, there were no stars. Well, there was one star but it kept fading in and out.


Playing with embers.

We let the fire die down to embers a couple of times, and because of the wind, the fire randomly started up sometimes. The smoke was getting to us too, making our eyes water. When we decided to head back to our tent, we killed the fire and turned on the flashlight. Because the air was so thick and hazy, the light didn't shine far.

When we were inside the tent, we read for a little bit—it was only 10 p.m. and we woke up late that morning. As we tried to fall asleep, it started to rain, though the wind was louder. The next morning, my neck hurt.


Glorious Hudson River.

After striking camp, we proceeded to follow our new trail—the red circle blaze. We circled around the mountain and found a gorgeous view of the Hudson (oh, how I'm drawn to it) and the rest of Bear Mountain. We proceeded to circle the mountain, but it became too rocky for us (or at least me) and so we headed down the mountain. Our plan was to walk in between the two mountains until we reached the vicinity of the parking lot and hiked up. We actually didn't know where we were going. We followed the new trail we found, the red dot, and somehow that turned into the white blaze as well. When we headed down the mountain, we figured we were off the path, but there we were in the red cross blaze path.


Doodletown map.

We found our way onto that handy 1777 trail, somehow. As we continued on the trail, the path became tidier and the greenery seemed more picturesque in a molded way. Jon kept singing something along the lines of, "I think we're in Doodletown." I thought he was just being silly, but actually, he was being serious. Doodletown is an abandoned village (1762-1970s) and the few broke-down houses that remain act as far-off attractions to tourists and hikers alike. We passed by a group of people and I figured they were bird watchers because of their binoculars and the way they kept looking up. Annoyingly, two park rangers whizzed by us on their off-road vehicles.


Bear Mountain Bridge.

We finally left Doodletown and found the main street, which led us to the the car. We were done. I threw my stick into the park as hard as I could. Extremely satisfied with our journey, we drove across the Bear Mountain Bridge and talked about pizza and showers and naps. We accomplished all three.

Next Sunday, we (along with Floating the Apple, Lang kids and random people) will be camping in Croton, then rowing to the Palisades for another camping night and then finally rowing all the way back to Pier 40 at Housten Street. Woohoo!