Adam's First Paddle to the Statue of Liberty

I was a little nervous when I got in the kayak on Saturday afternoon. I hadn’t set foot in a boat for over two weeks, I was just getting over a cold, the temperature was supposed to get up to the mid-nineties, and this was by far my most ambitious trip yet.

Let me take a moment here for a little exposition. I have done some spouting off about how much I was enjoying no goals in kayaking; I wasn’t studying for a test or preparing for anything, I was simply doing it for the pleasure. But I did have a secret little goal. There was a trip I wanted to take this summer. I wanted to go to the statue.

The NY Kayak Co’s Statue of Liberty tour is about six miles round trip and takes about three hours. While conditions determine the skill level, its distance and the open water mean that there are no beginner tours. I suppose I could have trained for it a little, but the weather and illness conspired to keep me off the water for over 2 weeks.

The conditions were really favorable; the current would be just slightly against us heading out and with us coming back. There wasn’t a ton of wind and no rain. The only drawback was that it was hot and humid as hell. Really, the only thing I was working against was the distance and my own nervousness.

The jitters started to clear up as soon as I got in the boat, replaced by a feeling of “oh yeah, I’ve been missing this.” I was trying out a new boat this time, an 18 foot fiberglass beauty that really glided through the water.

Not really worth going into the details of the trip; how do you describe the silly thrill of going between a water-taxi terminal and the sea wall, tourists disembarking on a walkway over your head? How can you do justice to the feeling of coming out of the rough water where the Hudson meets the East River meets the Atlantic, and finding yourself smack dab in the middle of some kind of regatta, sailboats surrounding you as far as the eye can see?

We paddled down the Manhattan side of the Hudson to the bottom of the island, then cut across the Jersey side. From there it was a mad dash into the harbor, dodging sailboats as we paddled over to the floating buoys that represented the boundary around Ellis Island. Post-9/11, there’s a limit how close you’re allowed to get to the monuments, no matter how small your craft. We skirted along just inside the forbidden side of the buoys until we reached our destination: the water just in front of the Statue.

Alas, there was no beach, no dock, no rest. But we did pause a spell to catch our breath and take some photos with my new waterproof digital camera. We took turns having our guide take our picture and by the time we were all done, we’d drifted quite illegally close to the island. Luckily the kayak is well-suited for a hasty departure.

I had been starting to feel the miles as we approached the Statue, but perhaps more than the brief rest, the knowledge that we were headed back gave me a second wind. This time the water was even crazier at the convergence of the rivers and the ocean; it seemed to be coming from all directions at once in big choppy waves. I had evidently pulled ahead of the guide but I was pretty confident I was headed in the right direction so I soldiered on.

Just on the other side of that craziness, we stopped briefly at Morris Canal, just behind the giant Colgate clock. There was a little beach and we were able to actually get out of the boats and stretch our legs, but only after I’d paddled up the canal and harassed some geese who were hanging out there.

Back in the boats, it was time for our final run back home. We pointed our bows toward the Empire State Building and pushed off. The boat traffic had calmed down on the Hudson and the current was mercifully with us so the going wasn’t bad. It was hazy as hell so visibility was limited; it’s an amazing site to see a giant cruise ship, the size of a floating city, start to appear out of the haze. It helps to motivate you to keep paddling when you feel like there’s nothing left in your arms.

I was really tired. The thought actually went through my mind “well, if I have a heart attack, at least I’ll have died doing what I love.” Oddly, my forward stroke was probably as good as it’s ever been because I had nothing left in my arms and had to power my stroke with my waist. But then in the distance I could see Pier 40; I realized how dear that old, blue pier has become to me over the last couple months, and I got my third wind.

Pausing only briefly for what is now my favorite photo of myself, I pushed on through the last bit of river, through the rough water of the eddy line, and even sidled up to the floating dock with a decently executed low-brace turn. Almost flawless. Once I was out of the boat and pulled it up onto the dock, I stood up and realized how completely drained I was. I kind of wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor.

Now, with my muscles still sore and my brain still giddy with accomplishment, I can return to a bliss state of goal-less casualness. Man, kayaking rules.

I decided to leave this piece unedited for sentimental reasons. I just wish to point out that the boat was actually 17 feet, not 18. I know this because I eventually bought that boat.