Fox

A fox bounded across Gulf Road in front of us in the pre-dawn dark Friday morning just past Brian’s place. He took two huge leaps and barely seemed to touch the ground before he disappeared into the woods. We were off on the trip that has been on the calendar for months, heading first for the train station in Albany. The drive was beautiful, the trees just starting to turn, the day dawning clear. Until we were within half an hour of Albany we had the highway mostly to ourselves. The train station is new and very pleasant and we settled into our seats on Amtrak, headed for the city. The train started up, we went a few feet, and stopped. It turned out to be engine trouble which they couldn’t repair, so after an hour they pulled another train alongside and we climbed down and then up into the new train. We had chosen an early train so that we had plenty of time and weren’t worried by the delay. After the rocky start it was a smooth ride down along the Hudson.

The train pulls into Penn Station, and after life in Hartwick the station and the city we emerged into were nearly overwhelming. But it was easy to get a cab, muscle memory for dealing with the city kicking in. The traffic was harrowing, but it was a short drive to the pier. And there was the Grande Mariner, our home for the coming two weeks. It’s a small ship, built to just fit through the locks on the Erie Canal. It sleeps 80, but on this trip there are only 58 passengers. The crew of 12 seem to be well practiced and everything about the departure goes perfectly smoothly from the first greeting at the entrance to the pier to the casting off right on the dot of three.

The trip begins with a short ride out to the Statue of Liberty and a great look at the lower end of Manhattan. There is the familiar sight of the Empire State Building, but it’s dwarfed and quaint looking among the gleaming new towers. We make a u-turn at the statue and head back up the Hudson along Manhattan’s West Side and under the George Washington Bridge. I’ve only seen Manhattan from the water once before, on a Circle Line day cruise years ago. Despite all the new buildings and the shift in perspective, it’s entirely familiar. I have happy memories of driving up the West Side Drive with my Dad, heading back to the Bronx at night after my violin lessons. I have no idea how I ended up taking violin from a teacher in Manhattan – surely, there were plenty of teachers in the Bronx. But the weekly drive alone with Dad was a treat, classical music on the radio and the lights at the top of the Jersey palisades slipping by across the dark river.

Just past the bridge there is the familiar sight of the Cloisters. Some smart folks kept the New York shore of the Hudson mostly park north of midtown, and the green space widens out at the Cloisters. We pass the Spyuten Duyvil bridge that connects Manhattan to the Bronx. North of the Bronx there are the suburban cities starting with Yonkers, and the river traffic thins down to nearly nothing. There are a few motor boats, and the occasional jet ski, but mostly the river is entirely peaceful. We pass under the beautiful new Cuomo Bridge that replaced the old Tappanzee – the bridge Peter and Aviva and I drove over on Tuesday on our way to Rye for Mom’s cousin Bob’s memorial service.

We are heading north along the same route we just came down on the train, but it feels entirely different from the water. The boat is smooth and quiet, with just a gentle rolling motion on the calm river. The Hudson is wide at this point, and it defined what I thought a river was. I was so stunned to find that the Rio Grand in New Mexico was barely what we would have called a stream. Evening falls as we head for Kingston, our first stop. Dinner was fine, in the comfortable dining room with the river just out the windows all around us. We sat with a group of Kiwis and traded stories about where we were from. Tired after a day that started at 5:00, we went to bed not long after dinner, skipping a lecture on iPhone photography by the ship’s very friendly and talented photographer. The cabin is small, but having lived in our Casita for three months and slept in a train compartment, it seems spacious to us. It has a roomy bathroom by our standards, and a perfectly adequate shower. We slept well with the gentle hum of the engine until 1:15 when the captain fired up the thrusters to position us at the dock. But then it was quiet and still again, and we slept right through to morning.

We stayed docked at Kingston all morning. There was a tour of Hyde Park, but having been there many times I was happy to skip it. Jay and I joined up with Bruce and Maggie from Florida and strolled around town. Kingston is a lovely place to visit, though almost nothing was open on a Saturday morning. We waited for the Maritime Museum to open at eleven, and it was worth the wait. It’s clearly a local labor of love. There was great documentation of the rescue of the Hudson from horrible pollution, entirely a citizen led effort and a terrific success. The river is clean now – really an amazing accomplishment when you consider how filthy it had become when I was a kid.

Over lunch we headed north again on another lovely warm day. What struck me most was how little used this section of the Hudson is. There was almost no boat traffic and most of the shore was uninhabited. It seems like such a fabulous resource, and though it’s delightful to have it mostly to ourselves, it seems odd. In the late afternoon as we approached Albany the shores were a little busier. With the exception of a small stretch of park, neither Albany on the west bank nor Renssalaer on the east has made much public use of the beautiful river, ceding it to industry. We waited for a few minutes on the river for a train to cross before the center section of the rail bridge could be swung 90 degrees to let us pass. We watched three fishermen in a small boat, and they watched us. After dinner there was a barely passable lecture on the Hudson River by the resident tour guide – not an auspicious start to his lecture series. We docked for the night at Troy, just outside the first of the thirty some locks we’ll go through before we leave the Erie Canal and head towards Lake Ontario.

This morning, Sunday, we woke at six to the huge noise of the thrusters as the captain steered us into the first lock – not unlike threading a needle. Outside our little porthole there was suddenly a wall of concrete, barely two feet from the ship. We passed the great metal gates, and in minutes the water in the lock started to rise quite quickly. The view from the porthole was quite limited, but suddenly I could see sky again. Overnight, the crew had entirely dismantled the top deck, taking down the canopy, stashing chairs below, taking apart the railing, and finally lowering the entire wheelhouse through to the deck below. As the old song goes, low bridge, everybody down! We passed under the first bridge over the canal with a couple of feet to spare.

River travel is slow, steady and peaceful. The passages through the locks are noisy, with a lot of thruster use in a small space. But after a rapid series of seven locks we were in open water for about an hour. There is nothing to do but watch. We have no decisions to make, no chores or obligations. Meals are served and cleared away, beds are made. We completed the circle back to Albany, and tonight we’ll be almost due north of Hartwick. From there on, the territory will be less familiar. My mind seems to have slowed to match the pace of the river travel, unhurried and simplified. It’s a nice way to be. We’ve left the quick brown fox behind, a landlubber.