I think that in my attempt to avoid psyching myself out about the circumnav, I fooled myself into thinking it would be easy.

A circumnavigation of Manhattan is about 30 miles; the furthest I had paddled to date was six miles. I had never been in the East River, Hell Gate, or the Harlem River . I had never sat in a kayak for more than 3 hours before; the circumnav would be at least eight. It would not be an easy trip for me.

In fact when Warren, my coach, had first suggested it in May, I’d kind of shrugged it off. I had months to come up with an excuse not to go. But as the summer wore on and my skills increased, the idea began to intrigue me, began to captivate me, became something I would have to do.

So there we were: a dozen of us on a chilly late September night. It was Saturday night; all of my non-kayak friends would be in the nice, warm pub with a comforting drink in their hands. All of my kayak friends were in boats, loaded up with much more food and drink than we’d need, ready to head out in search of something new.

Warren evidently couldn’t find a real paddle that night, so he was using some sort of short stick. He called it a Greenland style paddle, but it looked like some kind of kung fu weapon to me. Also in attendance was Taino, my original kayak coach, and ten other paddlers, most of whom I knew and had paddled with before.

After a quick headcount we pulled into the Hudson river and started paddling south. We rounded the bottom of the island, passed the ferry terminals, and found ourselves on the East River . This was new territory for most of us and it was breathtaking.

I’ve seen the city lights many times before, but never from that angle. The Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges made up a canopy of lights above. All around me, the water shimmered with their reflections, flashing and breaking with the waves; it was like we paddled through light itself.

In front of the South Street Seaport we met up with Jeff, one of our Teacher’s Assistants and a friend. We were now thirteen.

Because of the Atlantic Ocean and the Long Island Sound, the waters that surround New York City move in a strange but regular pattern. We had left two hours after low tide, so the current in the Hudson was moving out to sea, but the East River was flowing north.

To give some perspective, the average kayaker paddles about 3 knots. The water in the East River, below Roosevelt Island , was going about 1.5 knots. This makes for a nice leisurely paddle; you move quickly and don’t have to work too hard.

When you get to Roosevelt Island , however, the same amount of water needs to get by, but there’s half as much space for it to go. Now I’m no physicist, but basic math tells me that the water is going to be hauling ass in those narrower channels.

By the time we got up there it was about 11pm, four hours after low tide. According to my tide chart, the water past the island was going about 4 knots. At first I didn’t feel it; I hadn’t even realized we were next to the island. Then we passed under a bridge.

I was towards the back of the group, so I paused to see if there was anyone behind me. It was pretty dark, so I turned my boat sideways to take a good, long look behind me. When I looked back around, I saw a barge bearing down on me with alarming rapidity.

Without even taking a moment to say “oh shit” I broke into a sprint, flying forward and barely missing the front corner of the barge. Judging by the water crashing up around it, it was going really fast. Then I noticed it was tethered to the bridge abutment. It was stationary. The current was so fast it had almost thrown me into a stationary object at about my top speed.

With my heart in my stomach, I caught up to the group.

Near the northern tip of Roosevelt Island we pulled onto a little beach in Queens for our first break. So far the trip had been a piece of cake and we were all feeling rambunctious. We took turns paddling around with Warren ’s stick, and shared the snacks that we had brought. Johna and Ted, a married couple, had brought a selection of sausages and cheeses from a local gourmet market. This they spread out on one of the kayaks. I’ve been to weddings with a less impressive buffet.

At the appointed time, we pulled out again and continued north. The folks out in front hit some cross currents that zigzagged them across Hell Gate . Those of us in back weren’t sure what they were doing, so we followed them in their haphazard pattern.

One thing I have learned is that the tides and the currents have very little respect for our tide-charts. As I understand it, we should have had a little push up the Harlem River . The reality is that the current was against us the entire way.

And a funny thing I’d never realized: the Harlem River is really long. Really, really long. From the tip of Wards Island , at about 125th street, it goes pretty much straight north to the tip of Manhattan . I hadn’t realized there were 220 streets in Manhattan . Since twenty street blocks is about a mile, you can see how this leg of the trip was an investment in time.

The trip up the Harlem River was pretty cool. There were tons of bridges crossing the river, of all different sizes and shapes. A slow-moving freight train raced us and won, but just barely.

We passed Yankee Stadium and it occurred to me that if I’d ever been there, I might know where we were. In the absence of familiar landmarks, we tried to navigate by exit-signs on the Harlem River Drive .

The further north we went, the more sparsely populated the area became and the more woods we saw on either side of the river. Subsequently it got darker and quieter. This, combined with growing exhaustion (both from the up-current paddling and the late hour) gave the trip an odd, otherworldly feel.

By the time we reached the northern tip of the island, my hands were crying out in pain. That thick muscle that connects my thumb to the rest of my hand kept cramping, and I could tell blisters were trying to form on my fingers, but the relentless pressure of the paddle-shaft wouldn’t let them. Also, my abdominal muscles were experiencing the occasional pang that seemed to signal “have you no mercy?”

Luckily it was time for our second break. There’s a boathouse at Columbia University that was evidently donated by Bette Midler. We pulled in and we were so tired that we didn’t even mind the layer of goose shit that covered the entire dock.

Boat geeks that we are, we all crowded to the windows to see the shiny crew boats in racks inside. For a little less than an hour, we stretched, we ate, we stretched some more. Those of us who knew each other busted each other’s chops. Those who were just getting to know us mainly busted my chops.

We also shivered a lot; it was about 2 in the morning and the evening’s chill was setting in.

Back in the water we were refreshed and recharged and paddled on, energized by the thought that soon we would be reaching the Hudson River , where the current would definitely be in our favor. By this hour we should have a nice, healthy current headed south. We could almost raft up and take a nap as the current pushed us home.

You can imagine our disappointment, then, when we turned onto the Hudson and found a significant wind blowing against us. I’m not sure how strong the wind was, but it far overpowered the current.

The George Washington Bridge loomed ahead in the distance, but we just weren’t making any progress towards it. I was already exhausted, I was sore in a few different places, and this wind had dinged my morale. It was rough going. We kept pushing but the bridge, like the horizon, never seemed to get any closer.

Eventually we did reach the GW Bridge, however. I’m not sure if it was the accomplishment, or just the fact that continuous visual reminder of our lack of progress was gone, but the going seemed to be easier after that.

Shortly after the Riverbank State Park we pulled over for our last break. The floating dock was tiny, not really big enough for all of our kayaks; we had to pull a couple of them up onto the ramp to make room for everyone.

At this point, between the wind, the cold air, and late hour, we were all freezing. As good as it felt to stretch our legs and backs, there was nowhere to hide from the wind. When it was finally time to launch our boats again, we were glad to get back in the reasonably warm cockpits of our kayaks.

That last run down the Hudson was grueling. Any flaws in your technique were immediately apparent by growing soreness in the wrong places. Any ill-fitting gear that had been just bumping you at the beginning of the evening was now a deep bruise or it had rubbed your skin raw.

At this point the water was significantly warmer than the air and I found myself plunging my hands into the water periodically with my stroke in order to warm them and hoping to soothe my growing blisters and occasional cramps.

As we approached civilization, we entered the part of the Hudson where sailboats anchor. There was very little conversation and almost no other noise penetrated the sound of the wind.

It was surreal, paddling through this collection of sailboats, their giant masts towering over us, their windows darkened. Many of them had their little boats attached to them, implying that someone was home, asleep. It felt to me like we were tiptoeing through someone else’s campsite after everyone was asleep in their tents.

Sunrise was not one of those spectacular shows of orange and fire and glory. It started as a dim light over the city that wasn’t Times Square , then slowly got brighter until we were finally able to see who was next to us.

Whether the wind was dying down, the air was warming up, or just the psychological boost that came from daylight and more familiar waters, the going did start to get easier as we entered our more regular stomping grounds.

With the pier in sight, some slowed down, hoping to prolong the trip just a little longer, others sped up, anxious to stand up and dry off.

It was a strange feeling, to put my hand on the floating dock I had grabbed so many times before. I’d been paddling so long at the point, it was hard to believe it was over. I tried to remind myself that I’d done it, I’d accomplished the trip, but it didn’t seem real. The evening was a blur that I knew wouldn’t come into focus until I had some time to think back on it.

With my boat on the floating dock, I looked in horror at my hands. These were not the hands that fly over a guitar neck or a computer keyboard. These wrinkled, blistered, unnaturally white things were the hands of a corpse.

I had always assumed that I would want to get home and get to bed as quickly as possible. Now, however, I found myself in no kind of hurry at all. Thrilled to be dry and sitting in a different position, we all gathered around in the club room and had a feast of all the food we’d packed but not eaten.

It was a great feeling. It was great to be dry and warm again. It was great to be with my friends, eating and drinking and talking about the trip. And the feeling of accomplishment was big, though it was hard to grasp at the time.

Now that some time has passed, and I look at the map of Manhattan , I’m amazed at how big it is. The Harlem River looks impossibly long. But the amazing thing is, while we were still waiting for color to come back to our hands, we were already referring to it as “our first circumnavigation.” Just over a year ago I had made my first trip to the Statue of Liberty and it damn near killed me. Now I can do that trip without breaking a sweat. How long will it be until circumnavigating Manhattan is blasé? And what will be my next challenge then?