Hudson River, Kayaking, Religion Susan Fox Rogers Hudson River, Kayaking, Religion Susan Fox Rogers

Full Moon Paddle

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Not much blogging this summer, but some adventuring (which I’ll perhaps get to recounting at some point). Last night was the September full moon—not as special as the August full moon, which is the Sturgeon Moon, but it is the Corn Moon and the corn has been pretty wonderful here. I put in at Cheviot, which is just a bit north of Tivoli. It’s almost across the river from the St. Lawrence cement plant, which looms on the western shore. When it’s dark I confess that the plant is magical with its lights.

I put in around 7:15 and pointed north. It’s a great section to paddle because the river spreads wide and shallow so the channel snakes up very near the western shore  (where barges dock to load and unload at the cement plants). So I could paddle down the middle of the river and except for the occasional sea monster it’s pretty safe.

Not much blogging this summer, but some adventuring (which I’ll

perhaps get to recounting at some point). Last night was the September full

moon—not as special as the August full moon, which is the Sturgeon Moon, but it

is the Corn Moon and the corn has been pretty wonderful here. I put in at

Cheviot, which is just a bit north of Tivoli. It’s almost across the river from

the St. Lawrence cement plant, which looms on the western shore. When it’s dark

I confess that the plant is magical with its lights.

I put in around 7:15 and pointed north. It’s a great section

to paddle because the river spreads wide and shallow so the channel snakes up very

near the western shore (where

barges dock to load and unload at the cement plants). So I could paddle down

the middle of the river and except for the occasional sea monster it’s pretty safe.

Off I went, coasting through spooky calm water. While the

sun did a dizzy descent behind the Catskills, gulls gave off their haunting “you

are at the ocean” call. Soon enough, the moon popped up, huge, white,

frightening, and spread light and shadows across the water.

I arrived at a mid-river marker where Cormorants nest. The dark

birds dotted the spindly metal structure as they went about their end of day rituals. They burp. They

clack their bills. There was the peep of babies hoping to be fed. At the top

one bird stood in regal silhouette in a blue-black sky. The whole place stunk.

For a while I floated there, facing the moon, the birds

behind me snaggling away. Did they appreciate the moon? Perhaps yes. Me, I fell

into that moon. I wish there was a better word than awe. But there I was, awed,

small and huge at once, and grateful for this moment on the river, for this

life on this round earth.

This evening I went out again hoping to capture that magic

once again. It’s a risky thing to do because disappointment is almost

inevitable. But no, the evening played out with the same gorgeous display of

sun shading orange, pink, blue, black to the east, and the moon popping up

orange to the east. If I fed on

bugs I would have returned home full.

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