Before the warm weather finally moves in, I’m going to tell you about what may be the best cheap thrill in New York City: Rob likes kayaking on the Hudson River.
If you hate the water or don’t swim well, stop and read this, because I’m right there with you. Of course hating water is really more about fear. I fear tick bites, close proximity to turbines, Keanu Reeves movies, and any number of other terrible things. But fear alone can be understood and managed. Large bodies of water are different though. They possess the kind of dark mysterious force and awesome natural power that inspires ancient myths and children’s nightmares.
To float on deep water is to surrender your body to the arms of nature, able to swim but never fully in control. You are at once on top of something and nothing at all. While a careful dive from 20 feet can be exhilarating and sensual, a belly flop from 200 feet is like hitting concrete. On a primal level, water can’t entirely be defined. It is nothing if not powerful and unpredictable, and I don’t like unpredictable.
So imagine my trepidation when I had to get into one of those little boats, bobbing on the swells, putting myself at the mercy of a massive body of water.
It happened because some friends had told us they had gone kayaking in the Hudson River with their young twins, and my daughter’s eyes lit up. In that moment I completely forgot that I hate the water and we agreed to join them a week later. So there we were with brave faces on, my wife and I dutifully donning lifejackets and holding our daughter’s hands to get in line for a boat.
“I think it’s best if Daddy takes you,” my wife said, believing that I would be able to handle the fear better than she. Fat chance, but my daughter and I walked down to the water when a boat was available. She suddenly burst into tears when we stepped onto the rocking dock. Not just anxious tears, but tears of terror.
Ahh! We could finally turn around and go home. Part of me was tempted to take this as an easy exit, but obviously it would be a terrible precedent to set for her anxieties. She was scared of enough other things, and those fears often kept her from enjoying what other kids were doing. I looked out at the bright boats on the water, then back at Kate. As I tried to calm her down long enough for her to catch her breath, I motioned for her mother to come down and be with her.
“I don’t think it’s going to happen,” I told my wife. Then turning to Kate, I said “You don’t have to do any of this, alright?” She nodded with some relief. “I’m going to get in a kayak and try it out, and if it seems like you might enjoy it, you can do it. But if it’s too much, then we’ll just go home. Ok?”
Of course they only give people the wide, flat, practically un-tippable plastic boats, so there is not much risk for a rookie. But when you first lower yourself down in one of those boats, it feels like you’ve got a 50/50 chance of falling into the drink. Putting your ass into a cold puddle of water on the seat, feeling your stiff body rocking at the mercy of those waves — that first moment can really suck. After pushing off from the dock, my limbs were stiff, my chest was tight, and I felt trapped in an awful situation. I was determined to go far enough and long enough to show Kate it was safe, but also determined to get back on the dock not a moment later than necessary.
After a minute, I waved to the girls with a false smile on my face, stiffening my back so they wouldn’t see that I was shaking a little bit. And I was literally shaking. I think the last time I shook in fear was at a swimming class when I was about six years old. And here I was, a grown man with my arms turning to jelly.
Finally enough time had passed that Kate had seen enough, and I began to head back in. Paddling back took a bit more effort though, as the rolling waves had pushed me toward the sea wall, and bigger waves were coming in from a ship’s wake. To get to the dock I had to really use my body, and I was in a hurry to get out, so I began digging in with the oar and pulling my way forward with everything I had. I hadn’t done anything like this since I was a teenager, and I forgot how satisfying it can be.
When you really dig in and pull yourself against the current, your whole body is engaged. You become aware of your relationship with the water, and suddenly you are instinctively finding balance as you take control of your position and work with the water to navigate. Suddenly every muscle seemed eager to engage, and the endorphins flooded my system, and a little part of me was a teenager again.
No more shaking or anxiety. No hesitation. No question that my daughter absolutely could not spend her life missing this sort of experience because of a little anxiety. My little plastic plank of a boat surged forward, seeking out bigger waves to crash over, and taking a couple of laps back and forth, with sincere grins and waves toward the dock. When I finally pulled up and motioned for my daughter to join me, she was ready too. Settling in between my knees, she was still nervous, but also excited.
We spent the rest of the summer in those kayaks every chance we got. And I plan to do the same this year. Come on out and join us.
Free use of kayaks is available Mondays, Thursdays and weekends at Pier 40 (beginning May 15), though it would be wise to check the schedule before you go. The wait isn’t bad during the week, but you’ll want to go a bit early on the weekends to avoid standing in line at all.
The ability to get in a kayak in New York City is worth quite a bit to most people who do it, so please remember to put a small donation in their cash box when you’re there. After all, the kayaks are only free because of volunteers and the loose change people give them.
