MY REACH

Hitchhiking on the Hudson

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DSC01150 Every boater and his cousin is out on the Hudson River on this fourth of July when I slide in off of the dock in Athens. The DEC has put in a new, wonderful dock there making entry a lot of fun. Just east is the dredge-created island, Middle Ground Flats. The sun is high, and far too hot. There’s a whitewash of cloud covering a too-blue sky. What I tell myself is that for most of these boaters this is their first time on the water this year. This makes them happy but perhaps unskilled boaters. And, given that it’s the fourth of July it’s also possible they are drunk. I paddle, keeping to the shallows on the western side of the river.

The water is murky brown, and turbulent from the wake of boats zipping by. There are boats towing children on floating tubes and boaters loitering as people drop a fishing line in the water. There are jet skis galore, making circles in the water. And almost no sailboats. But most are mid-sized motorboats, shoving purposefully north or south.

As I paddle I look at the wisp of clouds in front of me and think: I don’t know anything about clouds. And yes, then I sing to myself, softly…

(I look up at home that I was looking at wispy cirrus clouds then later puffier cumulous clouds; I still, however, know nothing about love. I mean clouds.)

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Solstice on the river

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DSC00982 The sound emerged from a hole in the dead tree on the end of Magdalen Island. A high screech, demanding. Food. A mother flicker flew in, leaned her red caped head into the hole. A wide-open beak stretched into view. I floated in my kayak below the tree and watched through my binoculars. Baby birds are everywhere these days, calling for food, getting ready for their first flight. But most of the time all I hear is the high pitched call emerging from deep in the woods, from a hidden nest.

I continued south, through my reach, to see what else I might see on this solstice day. The sun was low in the horizon, but already I could tell it was going to be a sunny, even hot day. I said my hellos to the bald eagle serenely looking over the landscape from Cruger Island (look closely at the photo—he’s there!). A pileated woodpecker cackled from the woods.

DSC00999 At the end of Cruger Island, I glimpsed the turtles on the slanted rocks, exposed as the tide went out. They were big turtles, the size of a dinner plate, and covered with muck from the bottom of the river. They had white noses. They saw me too and soon enough splashed into the water. Could these be map turtles? (yes, they too are in this photo!)

On my return I crossed the river, empty and wide. A few kayakers launched out of Glasco. I could smell their sun lotion over the smell of the turbid water. It’s the smell of summer, beaches and long days outdoors. It’s the smell of a paddle where little happens beyond my slow thoughts, the slosh of the tide, the call of a baby bird, the splash of a turtle, the wing beats of the mute swan taking flight.

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