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July - August 2018
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boatingonthehudson.com
From Dick Duncan
May 2nd was an idyllic day on the shore of the
Hudson near Coxsackie. There was a clean stretch of
beach where 3 year old Anna could discover objects that
delighted her. Beach glass, razor clam shells, bottles
with no messages inside them. All the stuff that kids find
fascinating on a Hudson River shoreline.--
We’d just finished roasting hot dogs on the charcoal
grill and were fishing for bait to use for stripers.
Numerous catfish were caught before a small white
perch was landed. I quickly baited a large hook and sent
it out into the river. A short time later a young male
striper was on the beach. Alas, it was just shy of the 18
inches so after a quick snapshot it went back into the
drink, hopefully to lend its DNA to the next litter of bass
babies. It wasn’t long afterward when a northbound
barge appeared pushed by a tugboat. It was apparent
that this boat was in a hurry. I watched as a fisherman
in a nearby boat bobbed around violently.
As the unit sped by, doing about 12 knots by my
estimate, I noticed that the water was being sucked off
the beach, but still I wasn’t sufficiently alarmed. I knew
that a good-sized wake would be coming so I looked
about to see that everything was up from the shoreline
and seemingly safe. I had a rod a reel nearby propped
against a tree but guessed that the wake wave might
come up the handle a bit, but probably not get to the
reel.
I was sitting on a driftwood log, largely unconcerned,
still enjoying the delightful afternoon and the pleasant
scenery. What happened next still makes me shudder.
The size of the wake wasn’t obvious to me as it
approached from the south because of tree branches
that overhung the water about 25 yards away. When
the wake did arrive and was nearly upon me I was
immobilized and in awe. This wake was climbing in
height as it approached, until it was over my head. At
age 79 I was unable to leap up and make a dash for
higher ground, so I just sat there as this enormous wall
of water hit me like a liquid bulldozer blade. The next 20
seconds are a blur, as I was hurled from my perch and
tossed about in the maelstrom. I didn’t have any idea
which way was up but when the crash and roar of the
wake receded I found myself about 25 feet away. Dazed
and confused I staggered to my feet. Upon seeing that
everyone else was at least present, I grabbed my phone
and held it up and shook it in an attempt to salvage it.
A glance at the river revealed that most of what we’d
brought to the beach was now floating away. A recovery
operation was quickly conducted and much of our gear
was returned to shore. But missing were fishing rods,
lure boxes, net and car keys among other things.
Shockingly, our delightful afternoon at the beach had
turned into a violent, dangerous, cold and wet ordeal.
We did our best to salvage whatever we could and began
our chilly and glum hike to the cars, only one of
which could be started because of the missing key.
I was limping badly because of a sprained knee and
bruised ankle. I am only now, 4 weeks later, walking
normally again.
As a former keeper of the Saugerties Lighthouse
and a sailor on the Hudson for over thirty years I
should have been wiser about the power of that
wake, the likes of which I had never seen before. I
hadn’t adequately factored in the narrowness of the
river, the south wind, incoming tidal current, and
the speed and size of the vessel.
It’s said that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks
but this old dog learned a harsh lesson that day that
will never ever be forgotten.
Waves under these
conditions do not come
in directly parallel to
the beach but at right
angles. Thus individuals
may not even see the
oncoming wave
until it is too late.
Dick Duncan and Karlyn Knaust Elia just before the wve hit