A Windy Night Kayaking

It was threatening rain when Reid and I launched our kayaks last night, but other than that the river looked pretty calm. The tide book said the current would be headed downriver at about 1.5 knots, not current we needed to worry about at our skill level.

We paddled lazily out towards the river, warming up our paddling muscles and chatting about nothing in particular. As soon as we hit the eddy line, however, beyond the shelter of the big pier, the wind hit us and immediately snatched off my baseball cap. Luckily it was tethered to me, but it was a signal that conditions were a little more intense than I’d originally estimated.

Stuffing my cap inside my life jacket, we paddled out into the water and felt the full force of the weather. The wind was blasting downriver and slightly across, whipping our bows around. Our last few trips had been in pretty calm weather and I think Reid and I had just become complacent.

After some initial flailing, we dug in and started paddling upriver, against the current, which was definitely bolstered by the wind. Waves were crashing over our bows and we were immediately soaked.

My paddling buddies make fun of how much I love my Gore-Tex paddling jacket, but last night it proved its worth once again. Despite the wind and chilly air, we were perfectly comfortable; our torsos were mostly dry and the exertion kept our body temperatures up.

The waves were smashing against us and we had to shout to each other over the wind. It was hard to get any forward progress and the wind kept pushing our bows over towards Manhattan. I didn’t want to be so close to the pier until we got a little distance; if one of us flipped we’d have time for maybe one roll attempt before we got pinned against the pier.

I’m going to guess the wind was hitting us at about 15 knots sustained, with relatively frequent gusts. I didn’t have any kind of measuring equipment on my boat; I just know it was among the strongest wind I’ve ever paddled in.

The small waves were pretty constant. Every time one would crash over my bow, the water would catch and diffuse the light from my navigation lights and the front of my boat would flash red and green like Christmas.

My mouth started to get dry from breathing in the strong wind and my thirst was compounded by the occasional splash of salty water that would sneak past my lips. There was no time to grab my bottle of Gatorade, though. Any pause in paddling would cause us to lose too much ground.

Still, with the wind blowing, the waves crashing, and the current fighting us for all it was worth, Reid and I were having a blast. Every time a big wave would lift us up and drop us with a loud Slap into the water, we would cheer out. We were laughing and joking and talking as best we could over the sound of the wind.

What we weren’t doing was making good progress. We knew that we could get a break from the current if we moved closer to the shore, into the embayments, but I seemed to recall there were semi-submerged pilings in there somewhere and, in the dark, I wouldn’t be able to see them.

One wave was so big and hit me so squarely that, rather than crashing over my bow and dissipating, it actually crashed over my body. If I hadn’t been wearing a spray-skirt, it would have completely filled my cockpit in one shot. I let out a war-whoop, momentarily thrilled by the sensation of being partially submerged yet still dry.

The salt was caking on our faces. The waves would splash up on us, then the wind would dry it, creating a new layer on which to build.

Just before Chelsea Piers, we decided we’d had enough. We’d been paddling hard for about 45 minutes to get somewhere that should have taken 20 minutes. I suggested we head out more towards the middle of the river to make sure we were clear of piers, and raft up to get a drink.

Rafted up, we were making incredible time headed back downriver. Seriously, seriously good time. At least 2 knots. Unfortunately we were also drifting back towards Manhattan. My glasses were pretty smeared with water but luckily Reid saw a pier early enough that we were able to avoid it. Barely.

It was such a surreal experience. As soon as we turned around everything became calm and serene. We were going with the wind rather than against it, so it was much, much quieter. The waves hitting us were helping us along, like a crowded bar full of friendly people trying to help you get to the exit.

I was hardly paddling at all, just using my paddle to control my direction against the sideways wind. Even without paddling much we were flying back toward our pier. I think we made it back to our embayment in ten minutes. No exaggeration.

With a couple last friendly shoves, the waves pushed us into the embayment and then left us alone. Again in the wind-shadow of the pier, everything was calm and quiet. We’d only been out an hour but it felt like quite a bit more than that.

Salty and a little tired, but mostly just energized, we pulled the boats out of the water. The summer of hard work and skill-building was worth it, to be able to go out unguided on a night like that.