Elizabeth Rush and I were planning a trip to the Fresh Kills Landfill to coincide with an article she was writing about the waste stream in New York,

but after Hurricane Sandy devastated Staten Island, we wondered if we should make the trip at all.

“No one has been talking about how the landfill faired in the storm,” said Liz, “I think now might be a good time to check it out.”

So at sunrise on November 4th, we set out from the boat graveyard to see what was left of Fresh Kills.

It seemed fitting, anyway, to wrap up a Tide and Current Taxi season that had been mostly about garbage,

the week after Hurricane Sandy reduced parts of New York to floating rubble,

by paddling to what was once the largest landfill in the world.

The first thing that we encountered as we floated toward the Kills, was a huge, retaining fence encircling the mound.

“It’s meant to catch trash that might have fallen into the water while the barges were being unloaded.” said Liz.

We started to notice though, that there was more trash on our side of the fence than on the landfill side.

We saw debris stuck in the fence all the way to the top.

At some point during the hurricane, water must have breached the wall.

As we entered the Fresh Kills Estuary, Liz was suprised to see large barges full of garbage.

I thought that was what we were here to see. But Liz explained that there shouldn’t be much trash here at all. Other than a small transfer station somewhere inside the park, the Fresh Kills Landfill has been capped for years.

“Maybe there is extra trash because of the Hurricane.” I thought.

As we moved upstream, we started to see some real damge from the storm.

Sections of floating barricade were thrown over the retaining wall like soggy pillows,

and a crumpled dry-dock lay creaking on its barge.

It was strange that the damage seemed concentrated this far upstream, and we tried to imagine the path and force of the water as it moved through the area.

For the most part, the land seemed quiet and unaffected.

We were about a mile into the old dumping site now,

and the estuary stretched out before us like a scroll.

We saw deer running along the embankment, and osprey circled above.

Liz knows a lot about the site from her research.

The city has plans to turn the former landfill into a giant public park.

I found this optimistic rendering from an NYC Parks website that describes the future development as “a productive and beautiful cultural destination.”

That is not so different than what it is now, depending on your ideas about culture and beauty.

We decided to stop and have a closer look at one of  the mounds.

About 15 feet from the shoreline, we walked along a dense bank of grass shaft and debris.

We realized we were walking on a massive phragmites drift that was deposited here during the hurricane. “The new high-water mark.” said Liz.

However interesting, this was no place for lunch. Liz wanted to hike up one of the mounds to a spot where we could see out,

so we tied up the boat,

and jumped up on the trash barges.

It was amazing being on top of the barges.

Huge nets were draped across like circus tents to bind the trash.

“What do you think this is,” asked Liz, “a day of trash? A month?”

It made my head spin to think about the volumes of garbage coming in every day.

We found a place to hop from the docks onto the mound.

“This is mound 4,” said Liz, “where the twin towers are.”

I wasn’t sure what she was talking about at first, but then I remembered.

After September 11th, the rubble from the World Trade Center was brought here, sorted through, and buried.

Now a huge memorial is planned for the site.

We ate our lunch on mound 4 and watched as osprey circled and dove around us, hunting for their own lunch.

“What time do you think it is?” I asked Liz.

We had been up hours before sunrise and I suddenly felt like the day was slipping by.

In her study of Fresh Kills, Liz has been talking a lot to Mierle Laderman Ukeles. She is the official artist-in-residence of the Fresh Kills Park, commissioned by the Percent for Art Program.

When we were having reservations about making our trip, Liz asked Mierle what she thought.

Mierle was very worried about how the landfill had faired in the storm. “If the debris just got washed away, that would truly be tragic,” she said, “please tell me what you see and find.”

Now Liz could report that the landfill did not get washed away in Hurricane Sandy.

If anything, it grew.

We headed back to shore.

We had one more thing to do on Staten Island.

We packed up and headed to the east coast of the island, the part hardest hit in the hurricane.

I had seen plenty of pictures of this on the news so I didn’t take any new ones, but as we drove across the island we saw a drastic change in the state of things. Destroyed homes and piles of debris, families filling dumpsters with their own wrecked stuff,

and everywhere, the rerouted New York City Marathon athletes were helping out; running with supplies from house to house and lending a hand to clear waste.

We brought our load of food and supplies to an assistance center at Miller Field,

and made our way through the stalled lines of traffic back to Brooklyn.

These last two trips of the Tide and Current Taxi for 2012 were made possible by the Boffo art residency on Fire Island.

Its founder and director, Faris Al-Shathir, came out with me in my boat for the very last ride.

We crawled over a broken dock in Cherry Grove to put the boat in the water.

Our mission was to paddle back to Fire Island Pines on the bay side of the island.

Our path would take us by some familiar sites,

but seeing them from the water was interesting.

I was most curious about the shore between the Pines and the Grove,

so we stopped to explore the bank of this legendary meeting point.

It was a pretty beach,

and we picked through the little bits of debris that lined the shore.

There actually wasn’t as much trash as I had hoped for, in my slightly forensic study of the island.

What was there seemed nautical,

or festive,

or both,

(which usually means it is some kind of fishing implement).

The wheels of a laundry cart – very common on an island without cars.

We even found a carefully constructed hang out spot nestled in the reeds,

and the tracks of other hunters,

besides just us.

We got back in the boat and poked along the shore of Fire Island Pines.

Faris pointed out the houses of people that he knew,

and ones that he was curiouse about.

“Let’s go take a look at that one!” said Faris.

Faris climbed a little ladder into the yard of a house that seemed under construction.

He explained to the men working that he was an architect,

and wanted to check out the house.

“Rock solid explanation.” I thought,

and enjoyed the sneak peak into the world above the waterline.

Before long we found the little street that leads to Michael Bolla’s house (the generous donor of our residence).

“I love staircases leading right into the water.” said Faris.

“Me too.” I said

We walked back home along the boardwalk.

Thank you Faris, for coming out with me in the boat and for setting up the amazing ‘Art Camp’ residency!

Sarah DeBoard looked a little suspicious when she first saw the raft that we were planning to take out into the ocean.

Especially when she found out how she was going to have to get on board.

“I’ll swim out past the breaking waves with the boat,” I told her,

“and then when you see me get into the boat, you swim out after me.”

Sarah made it to the boat without a hitch,

and before long we were drifting with the current along the shore of Fire Island.

On our right, the houses and dunes passed lazily by in the almost-warm September sun,

and on our left, the open ocean.

This is not the first time that Sarah has been to sea.

Last year she sailed from England to Australia as crew aboard the racing yacht, Carina.

When she walked onto the Carina, she had never been aboard a sailboat in her life.

A year later she had crossed two oceans, visited the remote island chains of the Galapagos and Marquesas, and faired hapily in a 42 day open ocean stretch. (That is just to name a few of her nautical accomplishments.)

Presently, we spied something in the water.

Large drifts of jelly fish, with what I took to be their egg sacks, were passing quietly underneath the boat.

“I don’t think those are the kind that can sting you.” I said.

But we decided to go back to shore.

Getting the boat and ourselves back through the surf was just as tricky as it was coming out,

and just as cold after warming up in the sun,

but we made it back to shore,

and pulled the boat up on the beach at Cherry Grove.

“Technically, we have traveled from one town to the next by sea!” I said.

Sarah pointed out some of the interesting sites in Cherry Grove,

like the famouse Belvedere Hotel.

“It is an exclusive male resort,” explained Sarah, “no women allowed inside.”

(as she walked in for a peak)

We walked back through the sandy trails that separate Fire Island Pines from Cherry Grove,

A densely wooded area now known as the Meat Rack.

I was looking for signs of it’s vibrant life at night,

but we saw just one young buck.

“It’s beautiful up here,” said Sarah,

“just like the Galapagos.”

On the way back down we saw signs,

that explained why we should not walk on the dunes.

We were happy to oblige,

and warmed ourselves up back at the house.

This is a post about the first voyage of the U.S.S.B.I.G. – or not the first but at least the very longest.

Stephan von Muehlen and I made the boat about a year ago at a ‘Build It Green’ street fair – that’s an architectural salvage lot in Astoria.

They let us have anything in the whole warehouse to build a boat. We chose some old chairs and tarps and made the U.S.S.B.I.G. in about 5 hours.

Now that B.I.G. opened a new center right on the Gowanus Canal, we wanted to paddle her from one store to the other – backyard to backyard.

The trip would take us 12 miles over water, carried along by some of the fastest tidal current in the world.

Almost imediately upon putting the boat into the East River,

beads of water began to form inside the tarred canvas.

“That usually happens for the first few minutes.” said Stephan. His boat building collective, Mare Liberum, has made some skin-on-frame kayaks like the U.S.S.B.I.G.

Our first stop was to visit some of the floating sculptures at the Socrates Sculpture Park.

A beautiful floating Buddha facing the sun,

by artist Chang-Jin Lee.

We only had a four more hours of ebb tide,

so we struck out down the East River.

We were traveling at a good 6 knots,

and the city slid by as if on film.

I was happy to be making the trip that we had talked about all year.

It was a pretty day to be out,

but we were approaching an area that I was very concerned about.

Last winter I was rowing under the Brooklyn Bridge and almost capsized in the wake of a passing ferry.

“This time,” I told Stephan, “we should portage around the ferry terminals.”

But when we got to the Manhattan Bridge, things looked pretty good.

“I think we should just go for it.” said Stephan.

We waited for a break in traffic,

and then made a run for the narrow channel under the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges.

Water swelled on either side,

as ferry wakes crossed each other and ricocheted against the steep bank.

But the boat handled well,

and we were pulled through by the quickly moving tide.

New York city slipped behind us,

and the Red Hook Container Port came into view.

Things were pretty quiet on a Sunday,

the cranes all waiting for the next big load.

Stephan felt a cold chill as we passed the Buttermilk Channel; site of a harrowing event in Mare Liberum’s history.

We stopped for a rest at Valentino Park‎,

and Stephan went for one of Steve’s Authentic Key Lime Pies (dipped in chocolate).

Now that the tricky part was over, we took stock of our situation;

there was a fair amount of water in the boat,

and we wanted to get most of it out before the Gowanus Canal.

We feared a boat full of Gowanus water might be more treacherous than the Buttermilk Channel.

By the time we got into the mouth of the canal,

the tide was all the way out – as low as I had ever seen it.

I was fascinated to see so much more of the walls that formed the canal.

All the familiar sites were made completely new,

with 6 more feet of foundation and piling.

Our destination was the backyard parking lot of Build it Green,

but when we got there, it seemed like the dock had been pulled out.

We’d have to find another way out.

We were in Stephan’s neighborhood now, and he knew everything about the canal,

about the various water regeneration efforts,

and about this old sunken wreck, the former Empty Vessel.

“I’de like to sit on it one more time.” He said.

I thought that it was truly rare to see the boat so far out of the water.

“Do you ever see it like this?” I asked.

“Sometimes.” said Stephan.

His studio and office are right near by and he passes by the boat every day.

We lifted the U.S.S.B.I.G. out of the water,

and let her drain.

We had come 12 miles in 4 hours. “That’s three miles an hour!” I said.

“It doesn’t sound as fast as it seemed.” said Stephan.

We sat the boat on my bike,

and walked her the 5 blocks to the Gowanus Studio Space.

One day she’ll hang up here on display at Build It Green,

but that is a project for another day.

Before Robert Sullivan arrived, Tim Harrington prepared himself for our trip by reading about ‘The Raft of the Medusa.’

When he told his friends the night before that he was going out in my boat,

they joked that we would all end up like the Géricault painting.

I assured him there would be no cannibalism on my boat,

and before the sun had risen,

Robert, Tim, and I were paddling quietly toward the bay.

As a writer and native New Yorker, Robert Sullivan knows a lot about the Gowanus Bay and all of the New York Harbor.

As we paddled, he read a song written by Michael Shay in 1899:

“Way down in old Gowanus,

Slab City and Darby’s Patch,

Where squatters lived in years gone by,

all jumbled in a batch,

The frisky goat he roamed at will and chewed the verdant grass.

But ’tis years since any flowers grew,

down where they make the gas.”

He was reading the song out of a chapter in his new book, ‘My American Revolution”.

The book seems like a kind of almanac pertaining to certain historical phenomena,

all mapped against contemporary experience and perception.

The sun was just rising behind us,

as if it was coming out of the Gowanus flushing tunnel.

As we passed, Robert pointed out the Police Department’s ‘Evidence Vehicle Facility’.

That is where they keep all the vehicles involved in crimes in New York City.

We laughed as we imagined the infraction that implicated this pina colada machine.

Pointing to a passing cormorant, Robert said that the birds have been flying along these same paths since George Washington was camped out here in 1776.

“To them, all our development means nothing, a shore is still a shore.”

We were now in the pull of a strong flood tide,

and huge ships were moving in the harbor.

We’de be lucky to make it past the Brooklyn Piers before the wake and wind made the water too choppy.

I felt comfortable though, because Robert is an experienced boater,

and Tim was quite prepared in his Venetian Gondolier’s cap.

“That’s what is great about the East River,” said Robert,

It really is like that Heraclitus saying ‘You cannot not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you.'”

“It’s true.” I said,

but I was beginning to notice something worrisome about the river.

The molecules themselves might be different, but they were behaving in a familiar way.

The water was alive with little, peeked swells, created by the short spaces in between the pier pilings.

This is the kind of wave that sank my boat back in 2005.

“After this next pier, we are going to make a turn for the shore.” I told them,

and we paddled hard to get  out of the strong northbound current.

Back inside the cove, Tim got an idea.

“Drop me off on one of these pilings,” said Tim, “no one will know how I got out here!”

I remember years ago in college, helping tie Tim upside-down to a fence (at his direction).

It was a quickly conceived, physical gag, meant to surprise his friends.

It’s as though laughing is a little gift that he is constantly giving.

We carried the boat back to the truck,

and hung out for a bit, talking about exchange value and the premium on time in the modern world.

I wished the morning would last a little longer.

Thanks Tim and Robert!

Rebecca, Matthew, and I launched from Marina 59, out into the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge.

I thought Rebecca would like the area,

one of her paintings in particular reminded me of it.

Wasted and forgotten land, formed out of garbage landfill, it still offers up artifacts of its strange, hardscrabble past,

like this bone left over from the animal rendering plants that lined Dead Horse Bay.

When the map of New York was drawn, this was the negative space.

But just below the water, it flourishes with life,

like this horshoe crab we spied creeping along the seabed.

We set out across the channel,

to explore the islands south of JFK airport.

An aerial shot of Jamaica Bay shows a network of rivers runnning through marshy islands.

From the ground you can see why.

The ground here lies so low, that there is barely a distinction between land and sea,

just a thin membrain of life surviving half in and half out of the water.

We kept our bearings by the landing pattern of JFK.

We spotted a large osprey nest in the grass,

and pulled up quietly to wait for its owners.

It was fascinating to sit still and listen to the birds.

Their calls seemed to change from cries of alarm,

to conversational chirping.

We paddled through the winding paths,

the water so shallow that you could see right down to the bed of mussels that made its floor.

At some point I thought that we could drag the boat across a patch of low land to aviod a windy and difficult stretch,

but the mud was deep and it would be hard to pull the boat over.

“I almost think we should do it just becuase it would be so much like “Fitzcarraldo,” said Matt.

“That’s no reason to do something.” said Rebecca.

The sun was almost down,

and we had an important mission after dark,

so we paddled back out across the windy waves,

back to the cove that houses Marina 59 and the ‘Boatel’.

The Boatel is a collection of derelict boats made into bedrooms and living spaces,

a pretty collection of debris,

and nautical waste gems like this raft by Catherine Yeager.

“Someone should make a hotel out of all those school buses.” said Matt.

After dark, some friends gathered on the dock,

to see some pictures from Tide and Current Taxi, 2012.

I showed images from all the trips that I took this summer.

Then when it came time to tell about the trip that Matt, Rebecca, and I took that day,

they floated by on cue, and I got in to continue the story from the water.

We made up new, imaginary parts, with images of a shark attack,

and our eventual landing on a paradise island.

It was like we really had landed on a paradise island, back on the dock, chatting with friends.

Thanks to every one for hanging out! From left to right, that is: Rebecca Bird, Marie Lorenz, Liz Bentley, Lillian Gerson (as a ray of light), Billy Grant, Matthew Thurber and Paula Murgia.

Jack Stoney and I set out on the East River on July 11th, 2012 to observe a very special celestial phenomenon known as Manhattanhenge.

On two days each year, the sun sets along the east west axis of the Manhattan street grid.

“The term was coined by Neil deGrasse Tyson,” said Jack.

As an artist, this is  just the kind of thing Jack knows about; things having to do with the stars, the city,

and phenomenon that tug our perception toward a cosmic understanding,

or the way our lives intersect with the universe.

As the tide pulled us upstream, we stopped at Socrates Sculpture Park.

I have been wanting to see the new dock there, designed by George Trakas.

Its warm, timber terraces meet the water at a perfect scale for my boat.

We also wanted to visit our friend Jeff, who is working on a sculpture at the park.

He gave us a tour of some of the other work,

and we talk about the cement casts he will make for his piece there.

The tide was turning our way, so we headed to the boat.

Jack paddled in the back, so I could take pictures and enjoy the float.

Jack is an experienced boater, and he knew exactly how to steer the craft.

“How is it being up at the front?” asked Jack.

“Just fine.” I said.

The truth is, I was uneasy away from the helm.

I could see worrisome patterns in the water as the tidal current picked up speed.

People yelled at us from the shore of Rosevelt Island, and out of apartment windows.

“You won’t make it back!” said one man.

“Now, why would a person say that?” I asked.

“He wants to be the guy that told us so.” said Jack.

We passed the rocky outcroppings below Roosevelt Island,

Uthant Island,

and we spun in a strong tidal eddie below the islands.

We had an hour before sunset,

so we climbed ashore in Long Island City,

to wait for Manhattanhenge.

At first it didn’t look like much would happen,

and I tried to line up the sun with all of the objects in the construciton site, to make my own astronomical observatory.

Nothing seemed to work just right.

We got back out on the water a few minutes before sunset.

At first, the sun disappeared behind the empire state building.

and then we saw it;

a huge red orb, suspended between the buildings like it had fallen there,

and then was gone.

The water turned flat and calm, as though it too had been waiting for something significant to happen,

and we paddled back to shore.

“I think we were the only people to get a picture of Manhattanhenge from the East River this year.” I said.

Thanks for a great trip, Jack Stoney!

Matt, Robin, and I arrived at Liberty State Park just after sunrise,

for a trip that I have been wanting to take since 2007.

To reach our destination, almost a mile out across the bay in the open water,

we would need perfect cooperation from the wind and tide.

“So far so good.” I thought

as the sun rose over New York City.

Our destination: The Port Liberty Flotsam Barges,

two massive floats where the Army Corps of Engineers pile all the wreckage that they drag out of the harbor.

It is a kind of pergatory for nautical waste,

My friend Peter told me about it in 2007, and I have always wanted to see it up close,

but the wind and tide make it tricky in my open boat.

Common Terns circled the barges, crying out in alarm as we approached.

Up top we could see a massive tangle of whole trees, buoys and docks.

We paddled into the shadow of the giant shapes,

and Matt scanned the sides for a place to climb aboard.

The Terns called out overhead.

I think I could climb up those, said Matt.

“Don’t get in between the mooring and the barge,” I said.

“It’s moving.”

I climbed up after Matt to explore the flotsam,

while Robin took control of the boat.

The deck of the barge was covered in all manner of floatable crap;

a glorious jumble of tires, coolers, foam, and trees,

even what looked like a bean-bag over there on the left.

The barge itself was more complex than we figured from the water, with a hatch leading into a deep chamber.

Just then, I noticed something tucked into a pile of debris,

and my stomach dropped as I realized we were a few feet from a tiny chick.

Suddenly I heard the sounds of the Terns circling above, not just as busy chatter,

but as the anguished cries of parents separated from their young.

We went to the other end of the barge to take a picture I was thinking about all morning:

the Flotsam Barge with the statue of Liberty behind it, and NYC behind that.

Then we jumped back in the boat,

and paddled off under a shower of diving Terns.

While we were out, the traffic had picked up in the harbor.

Robin told Matt about an application for his phone,

that shows you every boat in the harbor and where it’s going.

“I have to warn you,” said Robin,

“It’s kind of addictive.”

The wind had picked up too,

and although the tide was going our way, we struggled keep the boat moving toward home.

It took all three of us rowing hard,

to arrive in our little bay.

Back on shore we walked through the park,

while Robin took some pictures.

For her project, Castles Made of Sand, she photographs areas in the New York Harbor that are vulnerable to sea level rise.

She hopes that by showing the sites up close, people might really visualize the impact of climate change.

“Lower Manhattan is certain to be protected from sea level rise.” she writes,

“Castles advocates for planning for sea level rise for the Metropolitan area as a whole.”

At a cafe on the way home, we found a map of local points of interest. Strangely, the area of the Flotsam Barge was cut off by an advertisement for ‘Surf City’.

When Stayc and I drove up College Point Boulevard, the area looked as bleak and industrial as I imagined it would.

But down at the end of a dead end street, there was a pretty patch of green, and we lowered the boat down to the water.

There was a perfectly trash-strewn little beach,

and we inspected the various debris,

like these snails who made their home in a filing box.

We got out on the water as soon as Elizabeth came,

and passed this half sunk boat. It had a spruced up, old-time feel, like a movie set of Popeye’s house.

We were right under the flight path of Laguardia, and the planes roared overhead.

It turns out that Stayc is something of a naturalist, and she pointed things out along the way.

“Mugwort,” she said, “good for anxiety and to help regulate menstruation.”

She also brought binoculars for watching birds. There was something surreal about looking through them.

Seeing the private and unhurried gestures of the birds was like tricking time as well as space.

Elizabeth was on a mission too.

She is currating a show next year at St John’s University in Queens called “Silent Beaches, Untold Stories”,

about the neglected waterfronts of New York.

Not suprisingly, College Point is one of her areas of interest.

Up ahead, we saw a gauntlet of cement factories, with dust billowing out across the water.

We waited for a break in the dust,

and passed through.

There was a wide open space on the other side, with a few birds.

It was that kind of land that no one can figure out what to do with,

except for guys like ‘TRAP’,

and us, of course.

I was a little disapointed that we weren’t seeing better birds for Stayc.

Sometimes even a seemilngly poluted waterway can be just crawling with them, but not today.

The nice thing about Stayc though,

she is happy with simple things, like this pretty little barn swallow.

As we passed under the dock,

we could see her little nest.

There was another part to College Point that Elizabeth had seen on the satalite images;

just beyond the marina, there was another one,

a ghost marina of sunken ships.

It looked like we were passing into the area of the wrecks,

but the best was yet to come.

From the water I could tell this was not a normal kind of thing,

and we got aboard to have a closer look,

at the strangest sort of wreck.

It was an old barge that looked like it had undergone some kind of slapdash renovation;

an odd mix of the original, heavy, industrial metalwork,

and then all this crappy, slapped-on siding.

“I would love to see this guys business plan.” I joked.

“Maybe it was going to be a night club.” Said Stayc.

“But where are all the clues?” she asked. There was a weird absence of personal effects.

The main room was an absolute jumble of trash,

with a strange spiral staircase leading to a series of upper decks.

The staircase and upper level were clearly part of the renovation.

While we made our way carefully up,

we felt like we could see through the debris, and peeled siding,

to see the owner’s vision of what the barge could have been.

He would have had a great view of Manhattan.

In my head, I started to refer to him as ‘The Entrepreneur’.

Down at the bottom, the stairwell disappeared into a green abyss.

Stayc spotted a tiny eel moving around in the glowing light.

And then we found a clue! We now know that these inhabitants dated back to the cassette tape era.

“At least they had good taste!” said Stayc.

It was a wonderful find.

On the way home, Stayc and Elizabeth tried to figure out where they know each other from.

At first I thought it was a wild coincidence that two relative strangers, invited out in my boat, would know each other.

But then I remembered, it is a rare breed of person who likes this kind of thing.

Thanks Elizabeth for guiding us through a great New York waterway!

Thanks Stayc, for pointing out those determined little birds and plants who have made it their home!

Just as the sun was rising, Leslie Shows and Helen Georgas and I drove out to Staten Island.

We wanted to get out to Shooter’s Island before boat traffic picked up in the Kill Van Kull waterway.

I had almost forgotten the other reason that I love waking up early;

the water was as smooth as glass.

It was like the whole world was waiting for something to happen.

Out in the bay, tug boats were nudging these massive container ships into port.

They passed the ships between them like a gigantic game of catch.

I have wanted to go to Shooter’s Island with Helen for a long time.

It is the best and weirdest place for beach-combing,

and Helen is the best beach-comber that I know.

She is one of the founding members of Underwater New York (along with Nicki Pombier Berger and Nicole Haroutunian).

Underwater New York is a digital collection of writing and art, all about things that wash up in the bay.

The best find that day, however,  was made by Leslie Shows:

a First Communion photo album, washed up on the beach.

It was filled with psychedelic images of little kids at church,

and back home after.

Then, somehow, the dad’s motorcycle makes an appearance.

It was the best thing I have ever seen washed ashore in New York,

but the shear density of the plastic stuff on the beach was amazing.

Walking through it with Helen and Leslie,

was like a mix between shopping,

archeology,

and playing Barbie.

One side of the island is covered with plastic,

and the other is glass and ceramic.

Each piece was like a little window,

into some mysterious past.

At one point  I found a 64 oz soda cup, which are now illegal in New York City.

“The newest relic on the island.” said Helen.

We decided to get back out in the boat,

and exlpore one more relic:

the drydocks of the Townsend-Downey Shipbuilding Company.

Now the are towers of burnt timber and twisted metal are a perfect home for nesting egrets.

We even found one tower that had fallen over,

so we got to look up close at the abandoned nests.

They were beautifully woven with strands of grass and reeds and plastic, all glued together with poop.

It was beautiful to be inside the toweres of nests and docks,

and we floated through corridors of rotting timber.

Little islands have begun to grow out of the docks.

We stopped back on Shooter’s before returning to land.

The southern end of the island was not as strewn with human waste,

and we could see down to the island’s unique coal rock sand.

We sat in the shade and chatted,

but traffic was picking up in the Kill Van Kull,

so we headed back to our little inlet.

Thanks Helen and Leslie for waking up so early!

On Sunday I found myself back at the Gowanus Canal.

The water seemed much cleaner than it did a few days ago, and that was fortunate,

because I had two special passengers:

James Bewley was bringing out the actor and trumpet player, Jenny Harder as a guest on his “Dale Radio” podcast.

He taped the whole trip for the podcast, and you can listen to it as you read along!

James was nervous about the getting in the boat, having seen the pictures from last week,

and the mood was infectious.

But after a few minutes, James eased into his character,

the charming and half drunk entertainer, Dale Seever.

He has been taping his show from the nieghborhood for 4 years,

and he knows all the lore of the canal.

Jenny played the trumpet beautifully, and it echoed under the bridges,

and off the backs of buildings.

It seems like everything turns its back to the Gowanus.

Dale’s crew filmed us from the bank.

I didn’t think they would ask, but Dale and Jenny wanted to go to The Grotto.

“Let’s go see some carcasses.” said Dale.

The grotto seemed suprisingly clear of debris,

I think the tide was pulling it out into the rest of the canal.

“Black mayonnaise.” said Dale. That was the name for this thick sludge.

“I saw a video where it ate right through a styrofoam cup,”

“that’s why I asked what your boat was made of.” he said.

Dale’s jokes seemed to liven up,

when we pointed the boat toward home.

I wondered if maybe the Gowanus Canal was interesting enough for radio, without the drama of seeing all the dead things like we did last week.

But back on the dock,

something had washed into port,

as if it sensed we wanted an encore.

Dale’s crew was anxiously awaiting our return.

This is me, Bill Scurry, Jenny Harder, Julie Miller, and James Bewley (as Dale Seever).

Here we are again,

at a very likely place.

Rachel Steinberg, Willis Elkins, and I, went to look for garbage around Co-op City in the Bronx.

The Eastchester Bay is at the mouth of the Hutchinson River, where it widens into the Long Island Sound.

We launched from Turtle Cove, and the water seemed clear and clean.

Families lined the banks of Pelham Bay Park, fishing, swimming and hanging out in the sun.

“Our first piece of trash!” said Rachel.

We spotted a rocky island just south of the Pelham Bridge.

“Looks like there’s some trash up there.” said Willis.

He was right.

People must walk out here at low tide and leave stuff.

We had come to check out Goose Island,

a little island right in the middle of the bay.

As we paddled around the island slowly, a flock of egrets flew just ahead of us.

We stepped onto the island,

and Willis made his first catch of the day;

a fine opaque, turquoise BIC lighter. Willis collected them for a year, as part of his project The New York City Lighter Log.

You see, Willis Elkins is a bit of an expert on the proliferation of synthetic trash around New York.

For years he has logged, mapped, collected, studied and written about all kinds of synthetic trash. This image is from a chart from his investigation of the Plumb Beach Channel.

But there actually wasn’t that much manmade crap on Goose Island,

mostly bones,

feathers,

this massive oyster,

something H.R. Giger designed,

and THIS (which Willis pointed out to be a tiny seahorse, picked apart by birds).

“Lets get out of here,” we thought,

“and go see some junk that people made.”

Willis knew about a little inlet on the western shore of the bay.

He had walked there last year on his hunt for lighters.

When we landed, we saw that the bank was alive with mussels,

and hundreds of these guys, who raised their little fists at us when we advanced.

But back behind a stand of reeds, we found what we were looking for;

a wash of plastic debris.

Willis said that this was a great place to find lighters, and I could see why.

There were tons of little plastic things, about 3 inches long.

Some of them were even still useable!

It was a veritable synthetic soup.

Willis and Rachel’s bag began to fill with little plastic things,

while I couldn’t help but gravitate toward the organic,

or simulated organic (as was the case with this headless duck decoy).

The tide was leaving our inlet fast,

so we paddled back into the bay, through shallow water.

“What’s your feeling about swimming off the boat?” asked Rachel and Willis.

“Great idea!” I said.

After walking through the mud and garbage, it felt good to get into the clear, deep water of the bay.

It turned out that we weren’t done with mud, however.

While we were garbage hunting, the tide had gone out of Turtle Bay,

and left us with 200 yards of quicksand-mud to traverse back to the car.

I was ill-equipped for the foot-sucking terrain,

but Willis and Rachel trooped ahead.

I didn’t get the best parts on camera, but imagine this a foot deeper,

and add the smell of low-low tide.

“Was this a good day in terms of lighters?” I asked.

“Not really.” said Willis.

“I probably already found a lot of them when I came here last year.”

To see Willis’ complete lighter project, and see thousands more lighters, visit the LESS Lighter Log!

Njideka Akunyili and Justin Crosby met me for a ride through some of the creeks that divide the south Bronx.

Kane’s Park is a pretty peninsula at the tip of Clason Point,

and it sports a little boat launch.

perfect for exploring the area.

The water was glassy and calm,

and the silence of the early morning was punctuated by jets landing at Laguardia Airport.

We passed the wreck of a huge metal boat,

and floated quietly right through the middle of her hull.

“I feel like I am on a Safari,” said Njideka.

Justin and I jokingly pointed out the local habitat.

The houses backed up to the water lie perfectly still,

under the path of roaring jets.

We found a place in Pugsley Creek, where you couldn’t see a single mark of human beings,

just birds and verdant bank,

but that didn’t last long.

The roof of an SUV parked in the river.

“How did it get here?” We wondered.

Back out in the bay we discovered an Osprey nest high up on a sunken crane;

the perfect house.

But the Osprey was out hunting for sticks when we came by.

We headed up the Westchester Creek,

I kept wanting to see what was around the next bend.

Under the Bruckner expressway,

we could see cars through the bridge overhead.

A man standing on a construction barge asked what we were doing and listed the diseases that we could get from the water in the Westchester Creek.

We did notice that the water had a peculiar reddish color this far up,

but we were careful not to touch it (in case any of our mothers are reading this).

We watched herons and egrets hunting along the bank. “I guess they can’t get hepatitis.” I said.

On the way back, we stopped a while to watch the Osprey nest.

There were two above the nest and they danced and circled, dropping sticks into their home.

The tide and gone out considerably and more of the bank and wrecks had emerged above the water.

A dense fog had settled over Manhattan, which was barely visible to the south.

I thought we should get off the water before it got too hot,

Njideka and Justin live just a few stops from here on the 2 train into Manhattan.

Thanks for a great trip guys!

Mike Hein and I met at Grand Street, but the current looked too strong to put the boat in the water there,

so we scouted out a new spot down at the end of North 3rd Street in Williamsburg.

It was an easy hop over a low fence,

and we were out in the water in no time.

My plan was to float north for a few hours, then when the tide turned south, float back and pick up his wife Saira from work. She would get off work at 6pm, 30 minutes after the current turned south.

“Go with the flow,” said Mike, “I like it. It’s the exact opposite of life in the modern world.”

But just like life in the modern world, we had a major obstacle;

the East River Ferry.

We watched its movements carefully and timed our paddling to avoid its treacherous wake.

“What’s that?” Mike asked.

“I’m not sure what it’s called,” I said. “But it is cool up there.”

We pulled into a small inlet just north of the Newtown Creek, and tied the boat.

Right on shore, there was one of Mike’s favorite kinds of sea trash. He calls it the philosophers foam, and he has been incorporating it into his sculptures and photographs.

We walked up a little trail,

to a makeshift park

that overlooked the East River.

From up there, we could see the ferry leaving port, so we figured we had a short window to pass the terminal to the north.

We jumped back in the boat with the foam,

and headed north again.

We passed by Matthew Barney’s studio,

and admired his boats and cars.

We noticed a large construction crane swinging overhead. I wondered if they saw us down below.

We stopped to talk to Matt Ryle, the head fabricator at Matthew Barney’s studio. He told us the latest news about the shop and asked about the boat and our trip.

We had another hour to wait for the tide,

so we pulled up to Roosevelt Island,

and waited for the tide to turn.

At 5:30, I figured the water could be heading our way,

but I had one more stop I wanted to make.

I have been curious about the new monument on the southern end of Roosevelt Island.

I thought it looked weird from the water, and I was expecting to dislike it,

But it is quite beautiful when you are inside the viewing platform.

It is a public park, but not open yet,

and there is a security camera positioned right over where FDR’s head will be. (I sort of hope they keep the alcove just like it is.)

The rock barrier that surrounds the new construction seems to be collecting lots of nice driftwood.

I would say it is the best place in the city to find small interesting pieces of driftwood,

in case you are looking.

Mike got a call from Saira,

and we headed to Java street to meet her.

It was perfect timing,

but Saira had to jump into the boat in a hurry before the wake of the ferry made it impossible.

It was her first time out in a little boat like this,

but the plan went off without a hitch,

and soon we were leaving Greenpoint behind.

It was a great time of day to be out.

The city was almost in silhouette,

and the Brooklyn side was glowing in the late afternoon sun.

Even the ‘Williamsburg Edge’ looked handsome in the golden light.

We landed back on North 3rd,

and hopped back over our wall.

Thanks Saira and Mike!

Anne Zuerner and I went out to Mill Basin to look for wrecked boats.

Anne is a choreographer and the movements that she works with sometimes relate to boating and the sea.

She grew up in Rhode Island, and she thinks that her love for dance originated in the hours she spent in the ocean as a kid.

It was a beautiful day but the wind was gusting across the bay.

At one point we struggled to keep the boat away from a seawall on the northern tip of Barren Island.

Once past the seawall, we landed and continued on by foot.

We walked through a network of wrecked docks and piers.

I think that Hurricane Irene came through here last summer and took anything that wasn’t tied down.

It even took some stuff that was tied down.

We dragged the boat along the bank,

and left it under the Belt Parkway.

Whenever I drive over this bridge, I look down here and wonder about all the boats and junk washed up in the grass.

Now I was getting a closer look.

This shore seemed to attract large, light forms of molded plastic.

There was even something in that category that I could use back home!

We crossed the bay and headed to the other shore.

We were being pushed by the wind, and it was nice to relax and watch the shore pass by.

This beach is used by an equestrian club, and as a group of riders passed, they encouraged us to get off the beach.

Back out in the bay, Anne noticed something unusual about the surface of the water.

It was hard to see at first, but we were moving through a giant school of fish.

They were each about 10 inches long, and the surface of the water seemed to bristle as their little dorsal fins moved in unison around the boat.

That gave Anne an idea.

We pulled the boat out of the water,

and headed to Riis Beach for a swim in the ocean.

Anne wanted to work on some ideas for a dance that could be performed in the water, and she asked if I would videotape her so she could watch it later.

The dance was beautiful. If you want to see the finished piece, and other work by Anne Zuerner, you will have to go to the Fleet Moves Dance Festival in Wellfleet Massachusetts next week!

We had one more stop to make before we left the beach;

a special tour of the Marina 59 Boatel,

with Orien Mcneill.

He showed us the many boats that make up the Boatel,

each one designed by a different artist,

like this beautifully serene aft cabin by Kelly Bowman.

 

Orien told us his plans for an event to end all events, a flotilla of disastrous proportions; The Battle Atoll.

We saw the “Chemical Reaction”, a floating lab of bay specimens, where the gang hangs out to plot and plan.

We admired the intricate driftwood workings of Orien himself.

We even met a small cat who has only once set foot on dry land.

Actually, there was ONE more stop we had to make,

a well deserved meal at Jordan’s Lobster.

A few months ago, Jennifer Coates asked me, “Where is the grossest place you have ever been in your boat?”

“The Gowanus Canal.” I answered.

We enlisted our friend, Eric Bianchi to come with us on a trip to the grossest place in New York.

But when I saw the water, I was worried. Floating rat carcasses lined the shore. Here at the beginning of the trip, the Gowanus Canal was proving to be even grosser than I remembered.

We launched the boat over the carcasses,

and began our journey.

“You know,” said Eric, “The reason I started studying renaisance music was to avoid situations like this.” Eric is a professor of musicology in New York.

An oil barrier boom was doing a good job of holding back the sludge at the very end of the canal,

but death was everywhere. Even the hardiest of vermin succumbed to the vapors of the Gowanus.

Still, there was something charming about the canal.

As we floated, Eric pointed some special New York trees.

Royal Paulownia, brought to America from China in 1834 and flourishing to this day along the banks of the Gowanus.

“Do you guys want to see the very grossest part of the canal?” I asked.

“Yes!” they said.

We headed toward a part of the canal that Jennifer now refers to as The Grotto.

It is a small dead end channel under a bridge, right next to the site of the future Whole Foods Market.

It is a wasted and derelict end, filled with grime and sludge.

The smell back there was literally intoxicating. I felt my breath shorten in fear as the wind pushed us into a dense froth of rat carcasses and slime.

There even apeared to be some kind of art boat washed in among the debris.

We all wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Back in the sunlight, the air felt comparatively fresh and warm.

We passed the LeFarge Cement Plant.

Eric noticed a cement barge coming through the canal. It was as wide as the canal,

and we turned to avoid it.

We waited down an alleyway for the barge and tug to pass.

Then we started to notice another thing that makes the canal unique:

large drifts of oil on the surface of the water.

Floating through the iridescent globs was mesmerizing, but sickening to smell.

I have always thought of the oil on the surface of the canal as an indication of the pollution in the muck below.

This is the nexus of the superfund site, I always thought, a geyser of pollution coming out of the earth.

Watching the tugboat churn up the water, I realized that it might be something else.

The oil slick might just be gas from the engine, deposited anew every day.

Maybe this is nothing compared to what is really down there.

As we paddled, our oars lifted black clouds of muck from the bottom,

and we floated past dead creatures of every phyla

(even the prophylactic phylum).

“I actually wish the Gowanus was a little murkier,” said Eric, “so we couldn’t see what was down there.”

“I want you guys to see the opening of the bay.” I said.

We paddled under the BQE,

and out into the Gowanus Bay.

“It’s nice out here,” said Jennifer,

even as little bodies, now like familiar friends, drifted by.

We turned back to the canal,

and headed in to dock.

“OK,” said Jennifer, “now what is the prettiest place you have ever been in your boat?”

At the time I couldn’t answer. I think it is because they are one in the same,

the grossest and the prettiest, inseparably linked.

“We made it!”

As we drove back into civilization, we joked about how gross the canal had been, and Eric said,

“I thought this experience would make me more curious to explore the industrial waterways of New York, but now I want to be even more insulated from it by a wall of upscale patisseries.”

But I know that Jennifer and Eric liked it.  Or at the very least, they won’t be able to stop thinking about it!

Tyson Reeder wanted to do some drawings from the boat.

Undaunted by the pouring rain earlier in the morning, we set out on the Coney Island Creek to see what we could see.

“Let me know if you see anything you would like to draw.” I said.

“We can stop whenever.”

The interesting thing about ‘plein air’, is that finding a good place to draw from is just about as important as finding something good to draw.

Soon Tyson found a perfect spot.

I dropped him there to draw while I went off in search of flotsam.

I nosed the boat along the bank,

but I didn’t like any of the stuff I found.

I wondered what I was really looking for.

Back aboard Tyson’s floating studio, things were coming along well.

But we set off in search of something else.

Coney Island Creek is home to the famous ‘Ghost Ships’, but there are new wrecks here as well.

Ghost ships in the making.

We tied ourselves to the wrecks so that Tyson could draw.

Up ahead, there seemed to be something sticking out of the water.

At first, we couldn’t figure out if it had been left by the tide, or if it was a manmade construction.

Sculpture – we decided.

There even seemed to be some of the sculptors earlier work back up on the bank.

“What a generous gift to the world,” said Tyson.

A little further up, I spotted one of my favorite things.

This is a special kind of boat unique to the Coney Island Creek; a derelict jet ski turned in to a little fishing rowboat. This one was tied securely to a tree.

It started to rain again.

That gave Tyson another idea.

Rain drawings,

with water color pencil.

It was a great day for finding junk and drawing it, but weirdest find was yet to come.

I know that this might not look like much, but this is a severed pony tail of human hair, reading glasses, and a jock strap all tied together with fishing line. At the time we joked about the circumstances that brought these unique items together, but when I got home and looked back at the picture, I noticed the red ribbon woven through the hair. I think maybe it was some kind of shaman’s charm.

Back in Brooklyn it was raining like crazy.