The Last Word On Nothing

Several times a week, I drive over a Hudson River bridge to pick up my daughter from her school in Troy, NY, and bring her back home to the Albany side. Back and forth I go, and every time my eye wanders to the frozen surface below. Even when it’s dark and there’s nothing to see, I look down and sense the expanse.

I’m not quite sure how the idea crept into my mind, but once there, it lodged and grew. Could I walk across the Hudson? It’s been a very cold winter. Not just cold, but consistently cold. The river’s surface has been solid since the new year. It easily held up the 20 inches of snow we got in mid-February. It sported puddles on the ice when temperatures hit 50 degrees about a week later.

I wondered and daydreamed and fantasized. At some point I realized that there must be others out there, thinking the same thing, feeling the same pull. That’s when I started to scheme. Perhaps there was a secret place where people walked on the river. Perhaps there was a wacky upstate New York event celebrating a frozen winter. Perhaps I could really do this.

I Googled around, but I didn’t find any kind of happening atop the Hudson River in this — or the previous — century. I tweeted and Facebooked about it, casting lines for compatriots. One friend who crosses a Mohawk River bridge described that river as “pretty rock solid frozen.” Another recounted cross-country skiing on a creek in our town. And a third friend, downriver in Kingston, wrote: “I’ve been so tempted to walk out on the ice this winter.”

Let me pause to assure you that I am not a thrill seeker. I didn’t want to walk on the Hudson by myself, or under the cover of darkness, or after scrambling down a steep, ice-and-snow crusted river bank. If I did, I would’ve heeded my sister’s advice: Travel on skis (to bridge cracks that might open in the ice), wear a life vest (to keep from sinking should I fall in), and hold a screwdriver in each hand (to give myself a chance to claw myself back onto the ice). That’s standard operating procedure, she says, in the upper peninsula of Michigan for early season ice-fishing.

I queried the helpful folks at the All Over Albany blog, who often cover oddball events and Albany arcana in addition to live music and foodie affairs. Blogger Greg Dahlmann responded with a glorious blog post about horse-drawn sleighs on the river, back in the mid-1800s. (There’s glorious art too — check it out.) He also shared this exhortation from one of his sources: “Please discourage your questioner from attempting this very dangerous feat.”

Rivers freeze differently than lakes and ponds in part because there’s a current, constantly flowing and eating away at any ice covering from underneath. In addition, the Hudson River is tidal, rising and falling with the ocean as far north as Troy. Apparently, the Hudson River at Albany used to freeze over quite regularly before a deep channel was cut to allow year-round shipping into the Port of Albany.

But then! My sister, clearly infected by my idea even though she’s a thousand miles away, sent me a news article about ice yachting on the Hudson. And — it was dated March 7. The Hudson River Ice Yacht Club is all about sailing on the ice. They take their yachts, many of them antique and lovingly refurbished, to the area’s lakes and bays, where the ice is more consistently solid. But they wait and wait for the Hudson to freeze, for the chance to sail for miles on end at speeds up to 80 mph.

Well, if there were ice boats on the Hudson, then I could walk on the Hudson. After reading the ice yacht club’s unofficial blog, I chose Sunday, March 9, as my day. My Kingston friend would meet me there. The weather was forecast to be clear and cold that morning. I dressed in layers, pulled on my waterproof boots, and grabbed my Yaxtrax. I drove south to tiny Barrytown, NY, on the east shore, where I might indeed scramble down a snowy river bank and step onto the river. Once on the ice, I was completely in the moment. I was here! I was doing it! Can I step across that crack safely? Just one photo. Just one more. Oh my!

The ice was cracked in places and soft in others, especially near the shore. But mostly it was as solid as I’d imagined as I viewed it from above; solid enough to put me quite at ease. The dozens of people and boats on the ice only increased my confidence. I found my friends and we idly wandered amongst the boats, admiring the polished wood and looming sails. I learned it was the third time yachtsman John Sperr has been on the ice in the last decade, but, he says, “What is rare is the stunning 20 miles of good sailing ice.” The last time that happened was 1994.

Then we set out to cross the river — or at least to go as far as the shipping channel, which Coast Guard ice breakers keep passable. (Many of the area’s news reporters took the opportunity to score a ride on an ice breaker.) Where we were, just north of the Kingston-Rhinecliff bridge, the river is three-quarters of a mile wide and the channel runs close to the western shore.

As we left the busy-ness around the boats, the vastness of the river felt more, well, vast. The wind was still, the sun was shining, the air was warm and quiet. A sense of glee took over as I realized I was standing in a place that normally didn’t exist. I felt as if I’d stolen this moment.

We were able to walk right up to the edge of the channel, which resembled a boulder-strewn path. We were maybe 100 yards from the houses on the opposite shore. We stood and poked and basked and reveled. And as we started our trek back to the boats, I saw a man, dawdling behind his group of friends, with a humongous grin on his face. I knew exactly how he felt.

Photos by Jill U. Adams.