CHAPTER NINETY FIVE: HUDSON RIVER STORIES – FROM THE POLITICAL TO THE PERSONAL

CHAPTER NINETY FIVE: HUDSON RIVER STORIES – FROM THE POLITICAL TO THE PERSONAL

I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I had living it. Let’s see. We were astounded by the sight of the Statute of Liberty, gobsmacked by the Manhattan Skyline and boarded by the Coast Guard – all in New York City. So what could possibly be more exciting? Try cruising up the Hudson River Valley, the land of Sleepy Hollow, Rip Van Winkle, and the mighty Storm King Mountain. Remember where you were in 1965? This applies to all of you who were ex utero before then. Storm King should ring some bells. Evil Con Ed wanted to destroy Storm King’s profile by cutting away part of it near the Hudson to build a pump storage power generator that would also have had ugly transmission lines across the majestic edifice of Storm King. A group organized as the Scenic Hudson Preservation Coalition sued to stop this travesty, and amazingly, a judge ruled – for the first time ever – that esthetic impacts could be considered in evaluating such large power projects. Having been tied up in litigation for more than a decade, and bereft of any ideas how to make a mangled mountain with protruding power lines attractive, Con Ed threw in the towel in 1979. And get this – they paid the Hudson River Foundation $12 million for all the sleepless nights that Con Ed had caused the Storm King esthetes, who were having nightmares about the disfiguration of the Gateway to the Hudson Highlands. And so, today’s blog starts with a very happy ending, albeit 3 and ½ decades ago. But I’m here to tell you that Storm King is still magnificent. We cruised by the uncut mountain today, and it looked mahvelous, dahling. Okay, okay, it’s hard not to start speaking in New York dialect, even after just a few days in this State. But before I leave the Storm King saga, more recently, in 2011, the New York Police Department rescued 2 Fourth Class cadets from West Point, who were stranded 500 feet up on a southern cliff of the mountain, not yet having mastered the art of rappelling. How plebeian. Yes, I said that, pun intended.

But I’m getting ahead of myself – again. We left Liberty Landing near dawn, and had great views of Manhattan all the way to Yonkers. There was a massive cathedral prominently displayed on the West Side. I googled West Side cathedrals and came up with a few possibilities, then emailed my New York cognoscenti, Barbara and Sondra, to see if I was right – Yes, we were cruising past the Riverside Church. And that rounded towerlike structure nearby (at least from the Hudson, it looks near) was indeed Grant’s Tomb. We passed the pier where Pete Seeger’s Clearwater is often docked, but alas it wasn’t there on Friday morning. We saw ferry boats and water taxis zip by in front of us, behind us, alongside, but once again, we were the only “pleasure boat” in sight. With our Gold Pass from the Coast Guard, however, we were feeling pretty lucky, Mr. Eastwood. The new tower being built at Ground Zero is really beautiful, as is the perennially iconic Empire State Building. We saw the entrances to the Holland Tunnel and the Lincoln Tunnel, and we watched all the commuters race to work on the West Side Highway to make their 8 a.m. appointments. Then we saw the George Washington Bridge. It glistened in the morning light. They must paint that bridge every year. Hello, Gorgeous. I had driven back and forth across that bridge every time I went to and from college in Massachusetts. But I hadn’t seen it in years. I wonder how close Sully landed his plane near this bridge. What an amazing feat! As we approached the GW Bridge, I realized that we were going to make a solo passage under its girders. How special is that! As the teeming masses were crawling across its span, we were gliding underneath them unhindered – probably going slower than they were. We chose this boat name carefully – we travel in Slow Motion, literally and figuratively.

Twenty bridge photos later, we had moved on to the Palisades. These rock faces are impressive from the River. In just a few minutes we went from the nitty gritty city packed with people and skyscrapers to one of nature’s wonders – the basalt cliffs called the Palisades because they look like fortresses. These cliffs were formed about 200 million years ago at the end of the Triassic Period, should anyone ask you. They first appeared on a map of the New World in 1541, based on a description given the map artist Gerardus Mercator by Giovanni da Verrazano, who first remarked upon their resemblance to palisades, or a “fence of stakes.” Their existence was threatened in the 19^th century, when they were mined for railroad ballast. But here’s another environmental success story. Leave it to members of my gender this time. Kudos goes to the New Jersey Federation of Women’s Clubs for spearheading the creation of the Palisades Interstate Park Commission, which acquired the land where the palisades rule and preserved them from further destruction. Anyone remember hearing about The Perils of Pauline? The Palisades were used as the location for this 1914 film serial, from which the term “cliffhanger” became popular. Today the Palisades are relatively safe from development or demolition, since they were designated a “National Natural Landmark” in 1983 by the National Parks Service. Hurray!

We were not done with bridges, after we passed under the GW. Further up the Hudson we saw the elderly, rusting Tappan Zee bridge. And we saw lots of barges and cranes and other construction equipment working on building a new bridge right next to the Tappan Zee. That would explain the total lack of maintenance of the current bridge, which could use a dozen new coats of paint. I had also crossed the Tappan Zee by car many years ago, but this time it was a thrill to cruise under this span – once again alone. Later that day, after we had docked at the Half Moon Bay Marina, I rented a car to go to the closest Labcorp in New City, New York – which is across the river. So, much to my delight I drove across the very bridge I had sailed under a few short hours before. It was a weird feeling. I looked down for boat traffic and saw none. I don’t know where all the other Loopers are, but we definitely cruise to a different drummer.

We are starting to see “snowbirds” flying Canadian flags heading south. They can’t get away from the land of the Maple Leaf too soon, I guess, as they head for their perches in Florida. Are we a colony of Canada? Sometimes it feels that way. First, all their people traverse our highway, byways, and waterways to take over Florida in the winter months. Next, what? Are they going to defile the Midwest landscape for generations to come with a huge oil or natural gas pipeline that is built to fail and spill its guts all over farmland and into the rivers of America’s heartland? Gosh, I never had any prejudice against any Canadians before my travels on Slow Motion. But in the 15 months we have been cruising, we have not had very many, if any, good experiences with the people from the North, who either don’t know the rules of the waterways, ignore them, or simply feel they are above American law. Whichever it is, it is most disconcerting to see a Canadian flag and expect bad behavior. Can you please shape up, dear friends? We promise we’ll go to the single payer system, if you promise to stop “waking” us and disregarding us on the radio. After all, it was so easy to get the Affordable Health Care Act passed, single payer should be a snap!

Moving right along, we were going with the current most of the way to Half Moon Bay, but when we arrived at this marina, the wind had picked up to 15 knots and docking looked like it was going to be hairy. Steve Plotkin, the dock master, was out on the end of the dock waving us in. Apparently he had not been on the dock until then, because he was extremely surprised at the strength of the wind. He was vigorously brushing duck poop off the dock when we first saw him – an occupational hazard, especially at this duck-friendly marina. But when we radioed him, he put his broom aside, and started to motion us into the first slip inside the breakwater. “Breakwater” is a polite term for a structure of wooden slats that is not very effective against the current and the waves that come off the Hudson River. Anyway, as the Admiral pointed his bow into the slip, Steve suddenly waved him off and started shouting: “No, No, don’t go in here! It’s too windy! Go down to the other end of the dock! Back up! I’ll show you!” As you know, there are no brakes on our 19 ton Slow Motion, so it’s one thing to suddenly shout “Change Your Course!” and it’s quite another to do it. Unrattled, the Admiral was able to turn Slo Mo’s bow out of the slip and head down to the other end of the marina. There appeared to be a slight improvement with respect to wind and current. Right across from the newly designated slip, however, was one of those “Clorox Bottle Boats” – the three stories high, 100 foot long, all white mega-yachts that we see in great numbers at the Megadock in Charleston, South Carolina. This yacht made the Admiral’s turning ratio pretty small, but somehow he managed to get Slow Motion into the end slip between two finger docks, one of which was free floating and clanging incessantly against a piling. This part of the dock had not yet been swept, so it was no time to be walking barefoot to secure the lines, or for any other reason. Steve helped us tie up, and once we knew we would get a very strong Wifi signal, most of the other concerns became secondary. Besides, this was the place, Croton on Hudson, where I was going to reunite with Steve and Lyn, whom I had married just 15 short years ago. So nothing was going to dampen that happy occasion, not even some very wet duck poop. Quick aside to Chris Harter and Ed Hazel: No, Steve Plotkin is not related to our very own former prosecutor, Robert Plotkin, although he could be, if you know what I mean.

The next day, Saturday, my first married couple (one of two in my career, both success stories – fingers crossed) arrived with their super-active kids, Dusty and Hazel. The Admiral was wary about allowing a 4 year old and 6 year old to tour Slow Motion, but I assured him that we would hold their hands the entire time, and no one would fall into the water – and equally important, Slow Motion would not be damaged in any way. The visit went beautifully from my vantage point. Lyn and Mike have not aged at all since they were united in wedlock by me in a lovely backyard ceremony in 1998. Okay, Mike’s hair may be a little white – sun-bleached no doubt – but he still has his fresh, boyish smile, and I can still picture him and David on Gentlemen’s Night out with their mother, Cathy, my bestest friend, when they were 6 and 8, and David ordered escargot while Michael guzzled Shirley Temples. What great memories! Back to the boat – Dusty was amazed by the number of levels we had, as he climbed the stairs from the cockpit to the sundeck, then climbed the stairs from the sundeck to the salon, then climbed the stairs from the salon to the master stateroom, then climbed back into the salon to climb the stairs to the forward staterooms, and then re-climbed the stairs to the salon and re-climbed the stairs to the sundeck in order to climb the stairs to the flying bridge – all in 5 seconds, I swear. I was out of breath watching him – and running after him to hold his hand, or any part of his body I could get a hold of. Lyn and Mike were hot on his heels too. Like every younger sister, Hazel was not going to be outdone, so she was never far behind. In short, they had a great time exploring the boat, and the bonus is that they were worn out quickly, so we could sit down to orange crème soda and Milano cookies. Am I nuts? That’s what the Admiral asked me later. I was feeding pure sugar to two kids whose energy levels were off the charts. Well, we had to make new charts after the sugar hit their systems. Did I mention how bouncy our mattress is in our stateroom? I had never thought of it as a trampoline before – but hm. Seriously, for their first time aboard any kind of large boat, I think Dusty and Hazel did great. And the Admiral was benignly tolerant. And Lyn and Mike were very relieved, I’m sure. A good time was had by all.

But that was just the beginning of my visit with MLD and H. They whisked me away to their Cold Spring home, but on the way we stopped at Boscobel, an estate with a spectacular view of the Hudson River as well as apple trees laden with fruit, which were just “falling” off the branches, according to Dusty. He kept running up to Mike with more apples that had just “fallen”, and when Mike’s pockets were full, he had to advise Dusty that there was no more room for any apples, whether they had fallen or not. In the meantime, Hazel was carrying around Mr. Bent, a stuffed animal with a bent ear, and she was kind enough to let me use it as a football. I sent Dusty on a pretty straight rout to the right – no, no, not over the cliff into the Hudson! – and he was able to catch Mr. Bent easily. The estate was setting up for a concert or play that evening, so we were hustled out at 5 p.m. Still, we had the chance to tour the orangeries – I googled the word and found that it is a snooty term for greenhouse, when the greenhouse is on mansion grounds. And we smelled the most aromatic herbs. This was one of many summer homes for the very rich people who came up from New York City. One of the 58 mansions owned by the Vanderbilts is in this area too. Maybe Mike’s and Lyn’s home is not at large or ornate as these estates, but their garden is every bit as good as Boscobel’s. And they have a nearly ripe watermelon, still on the vine filling out. I told them it will be ready on Labor Day. Here’s hoping a woodchuck doesn’t get to it before then. In between Boscobel’s and the MLDH home, we took a quick tour of downtown Cold Spring, which was crawling with weekend visitors from New York City. It is Carmel East. Which is to say it has a lot of great restaurants, some art galleries and tons of boutiques. I was too tired to get out of the car, and I knew the Admiral would have been standing at the steps to Slow Motion checking my bags for any contraband before boarding. He has one simple rule: Do not bring another thing on to this boat!

Now the real purpose of the home visit was to allow me to do our laundry. I had cleared this with Lyn and Mike, and they were gracious enough to let me tote my pillow case stuffed with sheets and dirty clothes to their house to toss them in the washer and dryer, while we caught up on several years of not seeing each other. As the washer spun and rinsed and spun some more, Lyn made bruschetta with heirloom tomatoes and the smoothest, tastiest mozzarella cheese and fresh basil – yum. I didn’t want to ruin my appetite, but they were so good! Lyn’s mother had offered to care for Dusty and Hazel and Mike and Lyn and I went out to dinner. What a peach! We went to the Garrison Country Club restaurant, which has a grand view of the Hudson River and Storm King Mountain. We sat on the patio and watched the sun set. This was after a rough beginning, when a yellow jacket bit Mike’s hand and was going for more of his flesh on his torso. They bite, they don’t sting, and Mike is somewhat allergic. I whipped out the Benadryl, the waiter ran for some ice, and Mike surveyed the damage. He had been shocked by the bite, and the yellow jacket had been shocked by Mike’s cry of pain and his jumping back from the table. Mike was able to wrestle it to the ground, and it disappeared between two slats on the deck – presumed dead. But that yellow jacket was a distant memory when the entrees arrived. Mike and I had the fresh fettuccine dish and Lyn had Long Island Sea Bass. Both dishes were prepared with the best flavors cooked into the ingredients. I have never had fettuccine like that before – it was the bomb. Lyn and Mike “made” me get dessert to share with them – double chocolate, heath bar “sauce” and rich coffee ice cream. Don’t dwell on the image – it will make you fat. When we finished this feast, it was almost my bedtime (8:30 p.m.) and I still had to get the wash out of the dryer at their house. We went back to Cold Spring, and all was quiet throughout the house. I folded and packed my clean, clean sheets and clothes, and sadly, it was time to end the reunion.  

Mike drove me back to Slow Motion and escorted me to the boat. He is still the sweetest young man. Both he and David, his brother, are so smart and talented, have great senses of humor and chose extremely well in their mates for life. Michael shared something with me that was heartbreaking, but at the same time shows the resilience of every child of divorce. I will not share it with you, as it is very personal. But, Michael, thank you very much for giving me more insight into your childhood years. You and David and Cathy were/are my California family, and I have always treasured every minute I have shared with each of you.

There is so much to tell you about our Sunday cruise from Half Moon Bay to Rondout Yacht Basin, but that will have to wait until the next chapter. Just know that the Admiral greeted me with open arms last night, and I am blessed to be able to share this traveling life with him.