The Hudson River Watertrail Association

Lake Champlain-New York City-Boston

May/June 2005

By Reinhard Zollitsch

LOOPING THE LOOP

Six years ago to the day, on May 23, 1999, Nancy and I made the long trek from Maine to the southern tip of Lake Champlain, the traditional Finch and Chubb Inn, to be exact, at the Lock #12 Marina in the small town of Whitehall, NY. I had asked her whether she would be interested in “getting away from it all for a couple of days” to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary. But she caught on fast, asking whether that outing would by any chance involve my solo sea canoe - and yes, it did.

The following day that year, soon after sunrise, I was off on my 1000 miler up north  to the Richelieu River and the St. Lawrence and on to Quebec City and beyond, around the Gaspé peninsula into the Gulf of St. Lawrence and back to New Brunswick, Canada (see MAIB May 1 - June 15, 2000). The following years took me along New Brunswick’s shores, around Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia as well as along the shores of the Bay of Fundy from St. John back to Machias, Maine. I had already done the stretch from Boston to Portland and the Maine Island Trail from Portland to Machias in previous years (1996/97), and I suddenly noticed that the New England states and the Canadian Maritimes form an island, so to speak, not a clear one that jumps out at you on the map, but you can boat around that big chunk of land, even with a sail or power boat. 

I realized that I was about 500 miles short of completing the loop. All I had to do was close the gap between Boston, MA and Whitehall, NY. Since this was not an area I would have chosen to paddle, and since I resent being pressured to do something which is not of my own choosing, I hesitated, procrastinated, made excuses and postponed that trip, and did a trip on the Baltic Sea along German shores from Denmark to Poland instead, which I had always wanted to do since I was a little boy growing up along those north European waters.

But then I read the Howard Blackburn story (see info), the indomitable dory fisherman from Gloucester, Massachusetts who later in life (1902/03) decided to sail a boat up the Hudson, through the barge canal system into the Great Lakes to Chicago and from there down the Illinois River into the Mississippi, the Gulf of Mexico and back on the Atlantic. He got hooked on crossing the Atlantic in ever smaller boats and circumnavigating big chunks of land that do not look like islands at first sight. He wanted to prove that a large chunk of the U.S. is an island. His trip in turn recently inspired Nat Stone to row more or less the same route in 1999/2000 and write it up in “On the Water” (see info). 

I suddenly felt motivated again by the good company and decided to complete my circumnavigation. At the top of the Hudson, however, my loop turned right instead of left, forever right, describing an almost 4000-mile-long clockwise circle around my new-found world in New England and the Maritimes. I too would end up at the same place I started. But since I had broken up my trip over a number of years, I now also had the choice of direction for my last stint. I had gone clockwise from Lake Champlain all the way to Machias, Maine. But since I had done the stretch from Boston to Machias in a counterclockwise direction, due to the prevailing winds and the tidal flow, I decided to do my 2005 trip also in a counterclockwise direction and hope that “the force would be with me” again, i.e. the flow of the Hudson, and the prevailing SW wind for the rest of the stretch. Hitching a ride on the ebb tide, whenever possible, would also be nicer than bucking flood tides. 

THE SEND-OFF

So there we were in Whitehall again, on May 23, 2005, enjoying a great anniversary/send-off dinner, thinking sweet thoughts while at the same time going through the check list for three weeks. I was again going solo and totally unassisted, except for the put-in in Whitehall and eventual pick-up on Revere Beach in Boston. I had all my own camping gear, charts and info, and food and supplies for three weeks in watertight bags, as well as 5 gallons of water. I abhor stopping at stores along the way to pick up a soda here or a munchy bar there, go to a motel for a shower and a soft level bed, or visit friends along the way and chat. I had absorbed enough history and information of this area ahead of time that I had enough to think about, to look for and to do, so I would not be lonely or bored. I also packed a bunch of fun readers in case I needed to take my mind off and relax. I was ready, as always, and very thankful to Nancy for letting me go and making these trips possible for me. Thanks, Nancy, you are the greatest!

THE BARGE CANAL SYSTEM

New York State has an elaborate barge canal system which was instrumental in the westward move of early settlers, the Erie Canal being the best known. The Champlain Canal was built between 1817-1823, around the same time as the Erie Canal, and ultimately connects New York City with Montreal and Quebec on the St. Lawrence (Canada). From Lake Champlain, barges, but now mostly pleasure crafts, can take the Richelieu River and the Chambly Canal (with 9 locks) north into the St. Lawrence, or go south through the Champlain Canal (with 12 locks) to Troy, into the tidal Hudson River and down to New York City. 

The canals are a fascinating story in themselves, run today by the very efficient and helpful NY Barge Canal System (see info; also check Peter Lourie: River of Mountains). Their website gives you all the info you need: hours of operation, fees and permits, VHF channels, etc. I especially liked that they were free of charge for hand-powered vessels, and yet I was always treated like a “real vessel” with a lot of courtesy, as well as curiosity about my trip. I had many an interesting chat with the various lock keepers. They pass on the word to the next lock, estimate your speed, and if possible have the lock ready for you. You go up or down, between 10-20 feet each time, with 2-14 miles in between locks. There is no lock #10, by the way. It was never built, because it turned out it was not needed, but the original numbering was never changed. I found the whole thing a bit strange.

The first three locks, by the way, lift you up to the height of land at Glen’s Falls and the Feeder Canal; all the other locks then drop you down to almost sea level at Troy. The first 25 miles of the more or less straight dug canal have the character of a small wooded river. At Fort Edward, after lock # 7, the canal joins the upper Hudson River and becomes more irregular. While the Hudson River does its thing, including falling over ledge drops and power dams, boats are channeled into small side arms to the next lock system. Those spots would not be too kind towards speeding, drowsy, inattentive, intoxicated motorboat captains, who all too often, I am told, are guilty of all the above and pay for it dearly.

THE MIGHTY RIVER AND HENRY HUDSON

Just below lock #1 at Mechanicville the Erie Canal branches off (river right). Suddenly the traffic increases, but even more so after the last set of locks, the Federal Locks at Troy. There the character of the river changes abruptly. The two big cities, Troy and Albany, have miles of quays and industry which bring oceangoing boats and barges almost 160 miles upriver. It becomes a working river with significant commercial traffic, which small boaters should stay out of at all times.

What boaters will notice immediately is that the river itself takes on a new character. From Troy on, the Hudson is different from all other rivers that flow to the sea. The Hudson does not flow at all, i.e. there is no real drop to the sea, unlike the Rhine, a frequent comparison with the Hudson. Troy is practically already on sea level. Since the last ice age, this stretch of the old Hudson, which extended far out into the Atlantic, was flooded, and what we have these days is one long tidal arm, a fjord if you want, or better, a “drowned river”. It “flows” both ways, as the Native American name Muhheakunnuk implies, with the ebb tide being slightly stronger (in places 5 knots max.), having the added river and rainwater to carry to the sea. If you do not pay attention to the cycle of the tide, you may see your tent washed off a beach by the incoming tide or find yourself stranded in a field of mud when the waters recede. The Hudson from Troy to The Battery is an ocean arm, a tidal estuary, and should be treated as such, i.e. you have to think ocean and tides, not river, when you go down it (mean range of tides for the two places: 4.7’ and 4.5’). 

When Henry Hudson arrived here late in September of 1609 in his frantic search for a seaway to China (his search north of Russia that same year failed, like all his previous attempts along American shores), he thought he had finally found the by then legendary “Northwest Passage”. I feel sailors had talked about it for so long that its existence was almost a fact: it just had to be found. 

I could see and feel what Hudson must have thought when he entered this great river: here is a deep and often wide tidal arm cutting through mountain ranges, maybe even an entire continent. In those days the American continent was considered a very narrow affair, maybe a bit wider than Florida. So it was very possible this was it. This had to be it, since he could not afford another failure.

There was only one thing missing in his equation, which I would have pointed out to him, had I been his assistant: where is the westing? This river was truly a Great River, a North River, as it was known for a long time after Hudson, but no northwest passage or new seaway to the orient.  

After sailing straight north for about 150 miles, an awfully long way in those days and those awkward sailboats, he finally had to concede it was only another river. And as I was thinking this, around the modern town of Albany, where Hudson had moored his 84’ ship the Half Moon, there she was. The sides were still scraped up from the Russian ice (or was it from this year’s ice melt on the Hudson?). It was the Half Moon all right; it said so on the stern. 

I was so excited to see the boat, a replica, of course. And was I ever glad that the first high tide on the river was at 6:00 a.m. This meant I would be able to make my planned 25 miles per day early each day before the wind springs up and with the help of the ebbing tide. I lucked out completely.

I needed that, because the weather the first week of my trip was everything but vacation weather. Night temperatures were in the low forties, daytime temps in the low fifties. There was heavy rain most every night and showers and drizzle during the day - real Gore-Tex, polypropylene and polar fleece weather. It felt more like Nova Scotia than New York . All I was missing were the ubiquitous fog and ocean swells crashing on shore and the outlying rocks. I’ll take it.

BRIEF ISLAND SOLITUDE WITH GEESE

My fifth night out found me on Esopus Island, between Kingston and Poughkeepsie, as the tide was running out again. The lead gander of a group of Canada geese objected at first, but eventually accepted me in my granite gray tent above the high tide line, while he and his flock continued to pull out on the lower tidal part of that minimal pebble beach.

HUDSON RIVER - THE AMERICAN RHINE?

That afternoon I had passed by Rhine Cliff, and I thought to myself how unlike the German Rhine this looked. There were no castles, no churches, no vineyards, no mystical Lorelei creature sitting on top of the cliff tirelessly combing her golden hair, not even a ledge for skippers to founder on, but worst of all, there were no little Weinstuben, there was no smell of Bratwurst, Kraut and German fries, and no oompah music - just kidding.

The only castle I saw came a bit later, Bannerman Castle, on tiny Pollepel Island, a tad south of Newburgh/Beacon, or just before the river’s break through the Hudson Highlands mountain range at Storm King Mountain. What a sight! I had to overnight there, I thought when I planned my trip in the cold of a Maine winter, and I did. Between 1901 and 1918 Frank Bannerman, who made his money hawking military surplus from the 1812 Spanish-American war, built the castle of his dreams for a warehouse, without real architectural plans. It is already unsafe to enter and is collapsing and looks much older than it really is. It portrays a false sense of history. It is clearly a product of a nostalgia attack. It is totally out of place, if you ask me or any European; it’s a fake, but great for tourism and pictures. I am guilty too. (I took at least 10 slides!)

No, the Hudson is not “The American Rhine”. Why should it be? It has its own unique and wonderful character.

THE HUDSON HIGHLANDS

Aside from Bannerman castle, Denning Point peninsula looked ideal to take in the  larger geological view of this area, and believe me, this is a spectacular spot in every sense. The river is almost stopped up behind the ridge of the Hudson Highlands, a mountain range filling the entire horizon. On river right is the big chunk of Storm King Mountain, and on river left, a string of almost equally impressive peaks. It must be one of the most photographed areas around. I was so glad to see it maintained in its natural beauty as a large state park and not carved up by developers. 

A bit further down, the entire bottleneck makes two tight 90 degree turns at Worlds End (I love descriptive names like that!), overlooked by the impressive buildings of the U.S. Military Academy West Point. I was very glad to have the strong ebb tide with me. This corner could stop you dead in your tracks with an opposing tide.

THE HRWA

I was so glad to find Denning Point as an overnight spot. Thanks to the Hudson River Greenway as well as the Hudson River Watertrail Association, an all-volunteer non-profit organization (see info), it is now an approved campsite for river travelers. The HRWA has been instrumental in establishing a water trail like our Maine Island Trail, down the entire tidal segment of the Hudson River. Since 1992 they have been tirelessly negotiating launching and landing sites for small boaters and have put out a very informative and useful Hudson River Trail Guide. Each year they celebrate their accomplishment and at the same time promote their idea of public use of the big river with an annual paddle trip down the entire tidal stretch of the Hudson. This year’s trip was planned for July 8-17, which was a bit too late in the season for me and also too slow, but I am sure the participants will have fun, get their word out about the mighty Hudson as well as get a good work-out.

CLEARWATER

I was in a great mood bounding through Worlds End,  also since the sun had finally come out. But then I lucked out yet again. Just below West Point I noticed a big old wooden sloop. I knew right away that had to be Pete Seeger’s CLEARWATER, the symbol of the clean-up effort of the Hudson River started in the late sixties. When I clicked my pictures for this article, heads popped up over the side, and I was soon involved in a very animated talk with the very enthused crew of five young college kids. They were delighted to hear that their word had gotten out and that I knew all about the boat, Pete, and their commitment. In return, they were impressed to hear about my big venture and that I too had sailed on a small two-masted schooner, across the Atlantic as watch captain.

The Hudson River surely has come a long way. People used to say you smell the river before you see it. Not any more, although there is still lots to be done, as I found out from the Riverkeeper patrolling the Hudson in a Maine lobster boat. I liked that. Now you see lots of Canada geese with their gangly goslings in tow, ducks, cormorants, some ospreys and occasionally even a bald eagle. On shore I heard cardinals, Baltimore orioles and mockingbirds as well as a variety of warblers. It was everything but a “silent spring” along this major north-south flyway. 

BRIDGES AND TRAINS

I have always liked bridges and trains. I grew up in a small town on the Kiel Canal, in  Germany, with several different types of bridges and lots of trains. I see bridges as the engineering marvels of their respective times, and the Hudson can certainly write its own chapter in a history book for engineering students. And as the river widens, one can see how engineers solved the problem of height, width and span with ever new designs and materials. Suspension bridges are my favorites, since they so gracefully and seemingly effortlessly span the river. But what is more important is that they connect people and towns, allow commerce and travel. I was fascinated and taken back to my youth, hearing train whistles at all times of the day and night. There were long 50-car freight trains chugging along the west bank of the river and sleek, clean and fast 5-9 car passenger AMTRAK trains on the east bank, New York City bound. Between bridges or where the river widens, ferries supplied the link. Even those have changed drastically, and now tear across the surface of the water at an amazing speed. Those catamaran ferries, I noticed, throw a wicked pressure wake. Small boaters beware!

OCEAN-LIKE BAYS

After going under the Bear Mountain bridge near Peekskill, the river suddenly widens significantly. Three-mile-wide and at least twice as long Haverstraw Bay looked more like Penobscot Bay in Maine to me than a river. Only the islands were missing, but instead, there is a very beautiful peninsula jutting into it, looking straight south to the mighty Tappan Zee Bridge. Again, thanks to the HRWA, there is a legal camping site for small boaters on the very tip of Tellers Point, marked by a HRWA pole marker. Thanks, I needed that! It was my seventh night out, and it was Memorial Day. The boat traffic had increased hundredfold. There were some sailboats, but mostly big and fast powerboats, all the way up to ocean racing cats.

Since I had too much gear, I decided to chance camping along the minimal beach, rather than carry my gear up the bank to the official tenting areas. It was marginal at high tide, especially with all the boat traffic and the westerly wind suddenly whipping up at 20-25 knots. I had to fortify my tent with a breakwater of the biggest driftwood logs I could find, and it worked, but barely. I knew I had the option of moving to higher ground at any time. I was ready and enjoyed watching people enjoying the mighty river.

MEETING THE SPITTING DEVIL AT THE MOUTH OF THE HARLEM RIVER

Teller Point was a perfect jump-off point to my next stop, the mouth of the Harlem River, which is also known by its Dutch name Spuyten Duyvil , or spitting devil (it spits out a strong ebb tide into the mighty Hudson). This was my 200 mile marker, my eighth overnight, and I had everything planned in advance to pull out at the Columbia University rowing club. I had e-mailed two friends of mine, the former head coach and Olympic gold medalist, as well as the major donor of the boathouse, way in advance, asking them to ask permission for me to pitch my minimal tent in the most out-of-the-way place on their grounds. This spot was important not only because it is hard to find a campground in downtown New York, but also because I had to set myself up very carefully for next day’s run through the infamous Hell Gate, where the Harlem and East River gush into Long Island Sound, a very tricky spot.

Everything looked great except for the extensive mud flats engulfing half of the rowing docks. Nobody was there except for some Canada geese messing up the docks, and eventually a grounds person and a security guard. I showed them my letters, still no problem. I was even given the combination to the washroom. I read some and studied the tides of the Harlem for tomorrow’s run. While the Hudson and the East River flood north, the Harlem floods south. The flows of the Harlem and the East River meet at Hell Gate and then together press through the narrow gut into Long Island Sound. I would have to be down there about 5:00 a.m., which meant leaving about two hours earlier, at about 3:00 a.m. in the dark. Could I do it?

And while I was half way through my Dinty Moore beef stew, the present head coach showed up. It turned out he had not seen the e-mails, i.e. he had failed to retrieve them, and he got all flustered and felt it was not up to him to give me permission to camp here. “If anything happens to you, I might lose my job,” he kept saying. At first I thought he was putting me on. Would I, who had gone solo on the ocean for almost 4000 miles without even the slightest mishap, slip on the goose droppings on the boat dock, break a leg and sue Columbia University for all it is worth? “You are kidding, aren’t you?” I offered, but no, he wasn’t. After a half-hearted attempt to contact a superior by phone, he decided he could not bear the responsibility on his own shoulders and literally threw me out. I could not believe being ousted by a phys. ed. coach, me being a Prof. Dr. from a sister university, with credentials from a former coach and Olympic gold medalist, and a major donor, whose name was on the boathouse in big letters. My ego as well as my planning skills were severely bruised. 

“I have to leave in 10 minutes,” he said bluntly,  “and I want to see you pack up now.” I knew then that I had met the “Spuyten Duyvil” in person. Arguing with small, inflexible and scared people, I knew from years of experience, was useless, but I sternly objected to his “NOW” demand. I was in the middle of my meal, the high point of each day for me, and still had my fruit dessert coming. I would pack up when I was done eating, I countered. He could check on me later. Under those circumstances I didn’t even want to stay any more - but they would hear from me later, I promised. He just walked off, not knowing what to say to my partial refusal to leave now.

And while I was gulping down my stew, the huge letter “C” signifying the mighty academic institution of Columbia University on the ledge face on the opposite shore suddenly shrank and looked more like graffiti defacing a beautiful, natural ledge outcropping. I was thinking a lot of thoughts and came up with lots of clever and cutting phrases which I did not say then and cannot say now either. Maybe I can get away with it if I put it into the proper language of academe, I mused. Anyway, I would at least vent my frustration by calling the little “Spuyten Duyvil” a “formica urinans minor” - not to his face though. (You figure it out; ‘formica’ meaning ‘ant’.)

That was my ultimate vengeance. I suddenly smiled again, enjoyed my fruit dessert, packed up and was glad to get out of that mud hole where I was not welcome.

HELL GATE, HERE I COME

This was easier said than done. The tide was ebbing hard, and I could hardly make headway. After 2 miles, just before the next rowing club, I found a postal stamp sized beach with more or less level ground behind it . This had to do, and it did, without my being ousted again, till my alarm went off at 3:00 a.m. I slept fitfully. The din of the city never subsided. Trains, busses and cars were running all night. What do you expect in the city that never sleeps? I had everything prepacked and had memorized the next eight miles to Hell Gate, plus the next two into Long Island Sound. It was a dark night, illuminated only by street lights and buildings and a sliver of a waning moon racing through dark storm clouds. It was an extremely dramatic setting, and me, lonely little Reinhard in his tiny sea canoe flushing down the Harlem with the flood tide. Once the span of a swing bridge on my side was blocked by construction barges, and I had to hustle to get into the other lane. Otherwise I tried to be very visible, just right of center, so nobody could think I was sneaking up on anybody or anything. These are touchy days in the city, and I had not cleared my passage with the Coast Guard or the police. 

Two hours later the river swung right, then left, widened, and I saw two huge suspension bridges on my left, while I was practically running into the tiny island at the entrance to Hell Gate. This must be Mill Rock, I thought and verified my position by turning on my flashlight for the first time. I was right on target - great! Now, what is the tide doing? Perfect! It was still flooding, maybe more than anticipated, because I got here faster. I sized up the boils, headed straight across to the other shore, to Hallets Point, in order to avoid the rocks in front of Wards Island and the major current that would be slamming into this shore. So I scooted into the eddy behind Hallets Point and flushed swiftly past the big power plant on the right hand shore, under the two huge bridges into the first bight around Rikers Island and eventually the Bronx-Whitestone and Throgsneck suspension bridges. I was in Long Island Sound for sure now. I felt elated, and it was only 7:00 a.m. Time for breakfast.

LONG ISLAND SOUND FOREVER

I felt I had reached another major point on my trip. Long Island Sound or rather the shores along Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts always sounded and felt much more familiar to me. This was New England, and I had seen various points here and there, but had never paddled any stretch other than last year’s outrigger race between Milford and New Haven, CT. It was going to be a cinch, compared to last year’s big task of rounding the southern tip of Nova Scotia into the Bay of Fundy, I thought confidently.

And I was right. It seemed tame compared to my usual Atlantic paddling. I found nice overnight spots on Twin Island, in Zieglers Cove, at Stratford Point, the mouth of the Housatonic River, on one of the Thimble Islands, the mouth of the Connecticut River next to the former Katherine Hepburn estate, on Ram Island and the Harbor of Refuge at Point Judith, RI. The coastline seemed endless. With the daily haze there was nothing on my right to look at, except for two small groups of islands, the Norwalk Islands and The Thimbles. And they were so built up, it was pitiable. Even the smallest rock had a house on it, bulging over the granite like a fat beer belly over a tight, descending leather belt. On shore, an endless string of summer homes replaced the scenery usually found along an ocean front. In places it got so bad that there were houses built in front of the old beach houses, but now half on the actual beach and half on stilts in the water. I was absolutely aghast, horrified, speechless. Don’t those townships have a building code?  Needless to say, I was not happy - no, I was in a foul mood, which I rarely am. 

Now and then nature conservancies had secured beach parcels, or states had established recreational parks or wildlife preserves, where I even found such Floridian birds as white egrets and herons and even swans. But I was getting distinctly tired of seeing nothing but beach houses and listening to the beach noises. And this was only early June. I found myself farther and farther off shore. 

(Reinhard then describes his trip along the CT, RI and MA shores in more detail and ends his travelogue with the following summary. He finished his 500-mile solo trip on Revere Beach north of Boston in 20 days, as planned.)

ENCORE

And as far as next year is concerned, I have no idea what I could do or would do as an encore. I know for sure, I won’t be heading south again. I’ve had my fill of beach houses, crowded beaches and cordoned off nature preserves. The shores of Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts may be great for day tripping for you sea kayakers out there, if you find a legal put-in and take-out spot, but they are not made for overnight canoe camping trips. Tamsin Venn in her recently reedited guide book Sea Kayaking along the New England Coast  agrees. The Norwalk Islands and the Thimbles are about the only worthwhile trip destinations, aside from big Narragansett Bay of course. I for my part prefer more real scenery with lots of islands, rocks, bays and bights, in northern climes, and with people who have less of a fortress mentality than people in more crowded areas.  But I have to admit, the Hudson River was a wonderful surprise. The 200 mile stretch which I visited was worth the long car shuttle, since it has scenery and history and since various groups are making a real effort to accommodate small boaters with legal put-in as well as overnight spots. I was delighted to see that our Maine Island Trail idea, with its active volunteer stewardship program, has found some real dedicated friends. There is always still lots to be done, but I already saw a great and very significant beginning. Keep up the good work, HRWA, Greenway, Clearwater, The Riverkeeper, and the many other local and state environmental groups and agencies. You are doing a great job. It really shows. I dip my cap.

Info:

Charts: NOAA and small craft charts by MAPTECH (Champlain Canal, Hudson River, East River, Western Long Island Sound, Watch Hill to New Haven, Cape Cod Canal, Cape Cod Bay, Massachusetts Bay, Boston Harbor)

NOAA: U.S. Coast Pilot 2 (Atlantic Coast: Cape Cod, MA to Sandy Hook, NJ)

Hudson River Watertrail Association: The Hudson River Water Trail Guide, 6th edition, 2003. See also: http://www.hrwa.org

Tamsin Venn: Sea Kayaking along the New England Coast. AMC Book, Boston, MA, 2nd edition, 2004.

NY Barge Canal System: http://www.canals.stateny.us

Cape Cod Canal: http://www.nae.usace.army.mil/recreati/ccc/ccchome.htm

Fun reads on Hudson River and voyaging:

Peter Lourie: River of Mountains (canoeing the Hudson from top to bottom). Syracuse Univ. Press, 1995.

Joseph E. Garland: Lone Voyager (the Howard Blackburn Story). Touchstone, NY,1963.

Nathaniel Stone: On the Water (rowing Blackburn’s “inside loop”). Broadway Books, NY, 2002.

Tristan Jones: The Incredible Yoyage (sailing from the lowest to the highest body of water,  Dead Sea to Lake Titicaca). Sheridan House, NY, 1996.

William A. Stowe: All Together (his quest for Olympic rowing gold in 1964). iUniverse, Inc., NY, 2005.

Equipment:

Verlen Kruger 17’2” SEA WIND Kevlar sea canoe with rudder and spray skirt (http://www.krugercanoes.com)

Carbon fiber marathon canoe racing paddles by Zaveral (http://www.zre.com)

VHF radio telephone with weather stations 

Iridium Satellite phone (for outgoing calls only)

West Marine lensatic radar reflector on stern deck

Bicycle wiggle stick on stern deck

Regular camping gear and canned food; two 2.5 gal. water tanks, refilled twice

Costs other than put-in and take-out car shuttles: None

Reinhard Zollitsch

61 North Main Ave.

Orono, ME 04473

reinhard@maine.edu

PS The full trip  report will appear in MESSING ABOUT IN BOATS, Wenham, MA;

 

 

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