Sometimes, you need to step back from the battlefield to get perspective on the bigger picture. The picture I’m looking at encompasses an overflowing island metropolis in the foreground and, in the background, a river. It’s framed in red tape and hangs wearily. Should it fall, it will shatter into a million pieces, lost forever. That picture came to me last October as I headed to the Big Apple to paddle and ride around Manhattan Island.
With three folding kayaks and three folding bikes, we were well equipped for our two-day venture. The goal of the trip was simple; to see Manhattan, its denseness and its grandeur, the clash of old industry and modern metropolitan life. None of us had been to New York City before.
Amidst the fury of downtown Manhattan, we anxiously unloaded our rides—three guys unfolding extra-small bikes with chrome fenders and oversized springy seats.
From Pier 66 we toured southwest to Ground Zero, grabbed a coffee, rambled through the maze of skyscrapers on Broadway Avenue amidst a rush of yellow cabs and pigeons, grabbed another coffee, continued to Times Square, grabbed a third coffee, and then ripped around Central Park. We finished our ride along the shore of the Hudson River, pedaling in darkness, the odd streetlight casting an amber glow on the endless backdrop of cityscape.
Viewing the chaos from its periphery
As our day came to an end, we felt a need to step back from the flashy lights, car fumes and crowds. To truly see the big picture that was Manhattan Island, it was necessary to view the chaos from its periphery.
The Manhattan Kayak Company, located at Pier 66, is well suited as a starting point for island paddlers. Even though the center was closed for the season, the staff was happy to provide local beta, such as this pearl: “Staten Island Ferries—the big orange ones—do not stop for anything.”
For paddlers, the relationship between a community and its natural environment is a no-brainer. Yes, I’m talking about river conservancy and the fact that the lives of not only river dwellers, but also entire communities, suffer from the ongoing degradation of their natural resources. Our eight-hour circumnavigation put the island into focus as a community, like so many other communities, which has overlooked its long-term dependence on the health of its ecosystems.
We paddlers slip neatly, and sometimes blindly, into our own communities of paddlers who understand this notion of preserving what we use to play and relax for the greater good. The picture painted by our paddle reflects the urgency that now, more than ever, is the time to help other communities understand.
Even urban islands of 1.6 million people, even centers of culture and finance, even Manhattan.
Cameron Dube is an outdoor educator and avid paddler based near the Ottawa River. He loves Starbucks.
This article first appeared in the Summer/Fall 2011 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
