After the mile walk to my locked kayak I unlock it and and get ready to start. I notice, oops! I forgot to leave my cooler in the car! It’s a big box that can’t possibly fit in the boat with me in it. So I have no choice but to leave it behind. It will be a bummer to lose it, but what can I do besides leave it behind a tree?

At the Floodwood put-in I sign into the trail register and smile and wave at a family of fishing campers as I make my way into the water. It is pleasant. Then I exit the shadow of the trees and suddenly it is uncomfortably hot in the sun! I turn toward land and hug the shore for as long as I can to stay out of the sun, passing the occasional vacation home. Before long I make my way to Rollins Pond which is busy with crowded drive-in campsites. As I write this I had to consult a  map: How did they get here? Aha, they drive from the south, I didn’t realize that was possible! People are out swimming, boating, and I pass a few little slow-moving motorboats toward the carry to Whey Pond. I’m navigating using a course uploaded to my watch, which I created hastily so it is very imprecise and it takes a minute to figure out where I’m supposed to walk the boat. I exit the water using the boat launch for the Rollins Pond Boat Rental place and walk over to Whey Pond and slide into the water.

“Any luck?”, I ask a passing fisherman. “I didn’t fish in this pond”, he replies. Whey pond looks kinda weird. You can even see it in satellite view. It looks, I dunno, kinda like there is clay dissolved in it, giving it a slightly gray color. As the sun starts to set, I make the easy carry over to the similarly colored Copperas Pond, which connects directly to Fish Creek which takes me to Square Pond. Campers are again everywhere, some randomly yelling animal-like calls, and getting responses from others across the lake. It is now dark, and I pull out my headlamp just in case any boats approach. I can see much better with it off under the almost full moon so I don’t turn it on.

I arrive at a bridge, and it takes me a while to find my way under it. Looking at my watch I am convinced that I’m supposed to exit the water and carry the canoe on the busy road. Looking around, tall guard rails and lots of traffic make this look like a horrible road to carry on. Thankfully I am mistaken and I can just continue paddling to the densely housed Fish Creek Pond. I am impressed at how quiet everyone is. 

I overshoot a turn before finding my way into a little connector to Upper Saranac Lake. At a few houses along this connector families are sitting around campfires. I slink through the darkness, passing undetected. The first section of Upper Saranac Lake is lined with homes, but a few miles north takes me to a quieter area where I quickly find a cozy peninsula where I can pitch a tent and bed down for the night, which I do. It’s very comfy for not having a sleeping pad, and I read my kindle until my eyes get heavy and I sleep until 7:30am. 

I quickly pack up my stuff and hit the water. It’s a little windy and wavy, so I pull over to put on my spray skirt to avoid the splashing waves from dousing me and my gear. After a few miles of paddling I arrive at the entrance to Lake Clear Outlet. I paddle upstream and against the wind, switchbacking up the oxbow, all of which means the distance is very slow to tick off. For the most part the outlet is 5 or more feet wide but at a few points it is as narrow as the skinny boat and I have to grab fistfulls of grass to pull myself forward.

I exit the water (a little bit prematurely) and drag my boat for a quarter mile along what turned out to be a private road. This carry is a total of about one-and-a-half miles, some of which is on a populated road. As I drag my boat along the road and over lawns I generally keep my head down but occasionally smile and wave to folks in front of their houses. Everyone I encountered smiled and waved back, without even a hint of surprise or concern over my mode of travel on this busy road.

After 20 miles of kayaking (and portaging) I arrive at the Little Clear Pond entrance to the infamous 9-carries route. Eye contact from a boat launch steward’s visage stymies my otherwise quick drop-in to the water. They ask me if I have taken precautions to ensure invasive species aren’t stowing away on my kayak. “No”, I shrug. “If it’s ok with you, could you flip your kayak over for an inspection?”. I flip the boat over. Note that for the last mile-and-a-half I have been dragging the kayak over and pavement and lawns. The steward sees nothing but green strips of plant matter. “Can I assume this is…”. “Lawn clippings”, I finish. My vessel is cleared for voyage.

I paddle pleasantly along Little Clear Pond as it starts to rain. A father and son in separate canoes are sitting at the portage to Saint Regis Pond, “waiting out the rain”, they say. The portage is more long and brutal than I remember it being. So is the portage to Ochre Pond. And the one to Mud Pond. Wow. By the time I get to Fish Pond I’m exhausted and wondering, “Why do I put myself through this?”. Throughout the rest of this rainy day, there is the occasional quiet thunder off in the far distance. The distant thunder is enough that I try to stay close to shore just in case, but not enough force me out of the water to let it pass.

The next few carries to Little Long Pond, Kit Fox Pond, and Nellie Pond are very steep but short. I pull out my phone which hasn’t had any reception. I have a text message from M, and one from a friend. And meanwhile my phone says, “SOS” in the upper right corner. Uh oh. It turns out that my new phone has a feature: If it detects a car crash, it will sound an alarm, and if I’m unconscious and don’t acknowledge the alarm, the phone will contact emergency services and notify my emergency contact, M. Well… My phone has been in my kayak which has been crashing around on these steep descents, and I never heard the alarm go off. This causes some panic on my part because if M got alerted that I am in trouble, and I don’t have enough reception to communicate with her that I’m ok, she’s going to be terribly worried. Meanwhile, what’s going to happen if the SOS message got sent? Should I expect rescuers to arrive by land and air? I ask Siri, “how do I turn off SOS?”, and she replies, “you need to be online to disable SOS”. Arghh! All of this is quite concerning, but because I don’t have reception there’s nothing I can do besides make my way out of the woods to an area with reception to fix the situation. Thankfully in the end, I don’t think anyone was notified and I was able to turn the feature off to avoid this problem in the future. Actually it turns out that the SOS signal wasn't as bad as I thought, it just means that "your device isn't connected to a network, but you can still make emergency calls".

The final carry to Long Pond is wet, muddy, rocky, rooty, and long. I patiently and carefully take it one segment at a time, trying not to panic thinking my phone is sending SOS messages against my will. My hands. Oh, my hands. They hurt terribly from holding onto the webbing handle of my boat as I drag it around. When I finally complete the last carry and start paddling, I look down to see a little cut on my finger. Wow, how lucky that my hands held it together for this whole trip, and only started failing just when the last carry got completed!

I paddle directly to the exit, and carry the boat up a steep hill to the car. I start the drive home. I pass by where I had locked my kayak the day before and remember… The cooler I had left behind! I pull in and there it is, I toss it into the car.

I’m beat. I take a left turn, and a police car pulls in behind and follows me.

The heater is on in the car. Everything is wet from having rained all day, so it’s a little steamy. Meanwhile the inside of my windshield hasn’t been washed in a while so it is fogging up and producing terrible night glare when headlights drive toward me. I honestly can’t see very well. I would love to pull over and fix it, but if I pull over now it will seem suspicious to the policeman behind me, so I just keep driving. Of course he stays behind me for turn after turn after turn. Eventually he heads off in a different direction. I drive to Stewart’s and buy Windex and paper towels and clean off the windshield after which I can see perfectly for the rest of the drive home.

It’s now the next day. It has been a long time since I have completed such a trip. I am sore and tired. But also I am reminded of why I do this.

"Delmar Dash" tomorrow
"Tenandeho White Water Derby" tomorrow

Hmmmm. I had forgotten all about those, I didn’t realize running on Saturday would leave the option open to do either (or both) events on Sunday. I drive home and M and I head to Muza in Troy for dinner. On the walk from the car to the entrance, Mindy touches my arm. “Let this woman go by”. I’m holding up pedestrian traffic with my hobbling down the sidewalk on my way to the restaurant. As we enjoy our amazing meal of pierogies, kielbasa, and golumpkis, I casually mention Sunday’s running and kayak races. M has some activities planned for the morning, so it fits in with her schedule reasonably well.

Later that night, I crawl up to bed without setting an alarm. At 6:30am I wake up. I look up race times. If I move quickly I can pack up the car with a ton of running and boating gear and make it to the first race of the day. I drive down to Delmar, eating an old cold burrito on my way, leftovers from yesterday’s trail snacks. I pick up my bib and do a warmup run. I’m running really gingerly. My poor feet are tender and sensitive from yesterday. This is their way of making it impossible for me not to take it easy. During the warmup I meetup with some fellow teammates, B and C. Running with them helps me forget my concerns and I actually warm up at a reasonable pace. Things are looking better for the race.

I start the race very conservatively. B passes me early on and he pulls me along for a while, slowly increasing the pace little by little. By 3.5 miles I’m feeling a little soreness in my hip so I ease off a little. I cross the finish line. It certainly felt like a normal race. I ran as fast as I could, even if the pace was a little slower.

I’m getting ready to make my way to the car to the next event when a guy from News Channel 6 with a huge camera says, "Hey did you run barefoot? Would you mind answering some questions?" I’m almost frustrated as he asks me questions like, "does it hurt"? The truth is yeah it hurts, but only because I’m an idiot and destroyed them yesterday! But instead of telling it like it is, I do my best to tell it like it would have been if I weren’t on the verge of total physical and mental collapse.

I drive north to Mechanicville with my kayaking equipment, eating a second burrito which thankfully has been warmed by the sun. I take care of logistics: dropping off the boat at the start, dropping off the car at the finish, registering, and hitching a ride back to the start. After which I have a 30 minute break, so I lay down in a field of onion grass and enter a deep slumber.

"Hey no sleeping on the job!"

I blink my eyes a few times and a man’s face comes into focus.

"Only napping!", he laughs as he and his canoeing partner place their boat on deck for the race. A siren sounds, and it’s announced, “the Kayak race is going to start in 10 minutes.”

I get up, put on my wetsuit, gloves, and spray skirt, and climb into the kayak. Despite the fact that everything is still rather gray in color, it’s a perfect spring day with sunny skies warming temps up to the high 60's.

I’m the very last kayaker to start in my division, I’m #12. Kayakers are released in 2-person waves, with 1 minute between waves. #11 and I wait our turn and take our places at the starting line. The announcer counts down from ten with his bullhorn and we start paddling. My arms don’t work. It doesn’t help that I haven’t kayaked in a year. #11 takes off ahead of me. I do my best to pace myself, paddling aggressively sometimes, and resting other times. It’s kind of a double whammy because I’m going more slowly than I’d like and meanwhile I’m more uncomfortable than I’d like to be. There’s no pity for self-indulgence.

I try to keep #11 within sight, which keeps my pace fast enough to catch up to the occasional kayaker. Meanwhile, a female kayaker who started in a wave after me blazes past all of us. Eventually #11 disappears up ahead.

There are two kayakers immediately in front of me as we approach a stonework island that marks a choice between a left channel and a right channel. The race director instructed everyone to stay left here, but I’ve always gone right. One guy asked, “is it ok if we go right?” and the director said yes. Apparently the right channel is a little rocky, which means you’ll scrape the bottom of your boat a little. I’m ok with that! Both kayakers take the left, and I veer to the right. I made the right choice! As the two paths merge, I am now ahead of both of them.

One of the things that makes this race so great is that the river winds through countless bridges and backyards through the town of Mechanicville, and on a nice day like today, huge crowds are gathered to cheer on paddlers. Just as the rapids get more exciting, encouragement from both sides and overhead help to inject a little more adrenaline into my dying arms. My face is contorting into looks of panic, excitement, and relief as I survive the more difficult sections while under scrutiny from many spectators. During this surge of excitement I catch up to #11 just before the final rapids where the river dumps itself and myself into the Hudson River.

Links

• Photos from the race

Click on the photos for high-resolution images:

	Coons Crossing Bridge	Rapids
2012 Derby 4/1/12 Mohawk@3,800cf/s
After October Rain 10/17/11 Mohawk@12,000cf/s
Day After Irene 8/29/11 Mohawk@100,000cf/s
2014 Derby 4/4/14 Mohawk@23,000cf/s
After May Rain 5/3/14 Mohawk@18,000/s
After cold snowy winter 5/3/14 Mohawk@8,000/s

The race course starts out with a swift but calm trip from just below Round Lake towards Mechanicville and builds in intensity all the way to the end where intense rapids drop boaters into the Hudson River. Early in the course I hit a turn with a set of rapids that pushed me up against a rock wall and I barely managed to stay vertical. After these first rapids, I passed capsized boats all along the course. By the time I finished the race, I had seen at least 8 capsized boats, their captains nowhere to be seen. I was the 19th boater to start and I passed a few contestants along the way, so this means more than half of the boats ended up upside-down.

These first rapids were a real wake up call. With half the boaters out of the running, racing no longer seemed important. Surviving was the name of this game. During the second half of the race, the river meanders through tough rapids in Mechanicville. The river goes under trestles, through tunnels, under roads, and eventually into a concrete maze before dropping into the Hudson. The whole while, holding on for dear life, huge crowds of people yell from both sides and all along bridges directly overhead. At first the excited yells from the crowd are uplifting, but with the audible disappointment upon surviving a set of terrifying rapids comes a stark realization. To the fans, the river is the home team, and I am the away team. With everyone rooting against me, it feels like I'm on my own. Except of course for the rescue team lining the shores.

While getting tossed around like debris caught in the surf, paddling like I've never paddled before in my life, three things keep me from pulling over and quitting at the next stop. Firstly I'm so focused on not falling into the water, it leaves little time to think about safe places to pull over. Secondly I know M is watching and waiting for me at the finish, it would be a shame to leave her hanging after spending the day anxiously awaiting my arrival. The other is that there is a huge rescue team ready to pull me out if I get into trouble. If there was ever a time to "see what happens" with the water level so high, this is the day to do it.

By the time I reached the long set of rapids at the end of the race, my arms were completely spent. The only thing keeping them moving was adrenaline supplied by a healthy fear of death. I was yelling at the top of my lungs through the final rapids as though the sounds of my screams would fuel my arms for just a few more much needed paddle strokes. With a facefull of water I crashed through the final set of waves and found myself in the relative calm of the Hudson River. I blinked my eyes a few times and looked to see not only M watching from the side, but a good friend had finished the race and was safely on shore! We're all alive, we made it! That was a close one.

Comparison of Tenandeho Water Levels

Click on the photos for high-resolution images:

	Coons Crossing Bridge	Rapids
2012 Derby 4/1/12 Mohawk@3,800cf/s
After October Rain 10/17/11 Mohawk@12,000cf/s
Day After Irene 8/29/11 Mohawk@100,000cf/s
2014 Derby 4/4/14 Mohawk@23,000cf/s
After May Rain 5/3/14 Mohawk@18,000/s
After cold snowy winter 5/3/14 Mohawk@8,000/s

Video of the course taken a month later, when the water level was much lower

5/30/12

Last night we received an incredible amount of rain during a short period of time with vicious thunder and lightening. I expected the water level to be very high today, and what I found was the opposite. The put-in looked like pure rocks, with a bit of water winding it's way between them. I scraped bottom almost the entire way, making for an unpleasant day of kayaking. The USGS Gauge on the Mohawk River in Cohoes was at 6,000 feet.

5/15/12

It was raining steadily but lightly all day today, and after a week or so with more rain than we have had in a long time. The water level of the Mohawk River in Cohoes was at 10,000cft/s. The water level on the Alplaus Kill was high, and running faster than I expected. The place I usually put in was under water, making for an awkward entry. I just got a new spray skirt that is very difficult to seal. Before I was able to get it in place, the current pulled me into the wavy rapids. As I crashed through the big waves, I thought I was done for. I paddled like a madman to get to the other side of the river, and luckily made it to a quiet spot before I took on much water. By the time I got the skirt in place, I was panicked, exhausted, sweaty, and my glasses were fogged over. Not a good way to start the ride. I tried to take things carefully, eddying out often to look ahead and make a determination as to the safety of the water ahead. I portaged in a few spots rather than face dangerous obstacles in the fast-moving water. In many places, the waves were 3-4 feet high, much larger than I have dealt with before. Many of the waves could have been fun to play in, but I focused my efforts on getting past them so I could return home in one piece. I spent most of my time avoiding the fast current and big waves, when usually the water is calm enough that I am targeting the rough stuff. The following video shows the put-in:

5/2/12

I repeated this route in May, 2012. I have been keeping an eye on the USGS water level for the Mohawk River in Cohoes with the assumption that the water level in nearby waterways is related. I would expect that the water level in a smaller stream would rise and fall faster during and after a rainfall than the Mohawk because the Mohawk is collecting water from a large area, including delayed influx of groundwater and distant upstream tributaries. Today the water level on the Alplaus Kill was a bit on the low side. There was a good amount of water, but in the shallower sections it was scratchy. I was able to kayak without getting out of the boat to walk but I had to push myself over a few rocky sections with my hands on the ground. The reading on the 30-day graph of the water level on the Mohawk River in Cohoes is 11.5' (8000cft/s). Despite the elevated level on the Mohawk, I *think* that the water level this time was significantly lower on the Alplaus Kill than last time, although I am only going on the descriptions so I am not sure. The waterfall on river left was actually flowing more heavily today than in the above photograph. Perhaps distant rainfall affected the Mohawk without affecting the Alplaus Kill. That being the case, my assumption that the water level on the Mohawk is related to that of the Alplaus Kill is not exactly correct.

7/7/11

Today I kayaked down the lower part of the Alplaus Kill from just below Crystal Falls downstream from Route 50 to the Mohawk River.

I headed out early this morning before work.

I parked my bike at the public dock near the Boat House in Niskayuna.

I had a place in mind where I was hoping to access the riverbank, but the small road leading down to the path to the river was gated with "no parking" signs along the way. I scouted around for another way to access the river, and checked out Crystal Falls.

Here is a picture of the falls taken downstream a short distance.

Eventually I found a way down to the river, although it was rather difficult. It was a bit of a struggle getting the boat to the water, but luckily somebody had left behind a rope that was worked well enough for easing the kayak down a very steep hill.

It rained a bit last night, so I was hoping that the water would be high (but not too high). I kayaked my way down, and there were really nice rapids along most of the way. It was not difficult to stay in control, so the rapids felt safe. The water was generally nice and wide so fallen trees in the stream were often easily avoided. There were a few log jams that I had to get out and pull the boat around. The water was generally shallow enough that bailing out in the case of an emergency always seemed like a reasonable option. There was a nice waterfall along the way.

A great blue heron leapfrogged down the river. I would catch up to him and he would fly down the river a short ways, and we repeated this process for quite a while.

Most of the way down the river, it looked about like this:

There were several areas where the rapids were more fierce than this, but unfortunately I was too busy paddling to stop and take pictures of the more exciting rapids. There was a railroad bridge along the way.

I took a picture of a log that I had taken a picture of on my last trip in order to get an idea of the water level difference. It looks like it was only a little bit higher the other day (left) than it was today (right).

Eventually I reached the confluence of the Alplaus Kill and the Mohawk River.

It was a short paddle back to the public dock and I was done!

This was probably the best trip I have taken so far, not including the difficulties with getting to the put-in location. The trip was fast moving and exciting, but not scary. According to the book I have, this section of water includes Class I and Class II rapids.

Distance: 6 miles
Elevation change: 80 feet
Avg Slope: 13 feet per mile
Time taken:
* 1 hour, 40 minutes to kayak
* 30 minutes to bike back to the car
* USGS Mohawk River Cohoes Reading - 6,000cft/s (perhaps 11'?)

6/24/11 - Bad Omens on the Alplaus Kill

I set out to kayak the Alplaus Kill before work this morning. I'm not generally superstitious, but today there were too many signs to ignore suggesting that today was not my day to take any unnecessary risks. If something terrible happens to me sometime in the near future, let it be known now that I was warned. In the meantime I plan to walk a little more carefully than usual.

It has been raining steadily for the last several days, so there is a much higher volume of water running down the stream than usual. When I arrived at my planned starting point, I glanced upstream to see a surprisingly Niagara-esque waterfall. This was my first sign that maybe I should not rush into anything:

From looking at satellite images of this area of the stream, I knew that there would be some kind of waterfall a short distance downstream that I would likely need to avoid by hopefully carrying the kayak around it. I decided to walk down the stream in order to get a better idea of what I'd be up against. Along the way, the water was moving very fast, faster than I am comfortable with:

Before I reached the falls, I came upon poison ivy (or at least something that looks a lot like it). There was no avoiding it if I were to press onward. My bare legs would not allow me to continue.

I headed back to the car, and drove downstream a bit to an area past the waterfalls where I thought that I might be able to access the stream. On my walk through the woods towards the stream, an intimidating trail marker warned of unspoken dangers ahead.

When I reached the stream, I found myself standing atop a 100 foot cliff looking down at the water below.

A rope down the steep slope invited me to climb down to get a better look.

After exploring the stream for a short while, I hiked back to the car, and drove to a bridge just a short distance upstream from where I was planning to exit the water. I put the kayak in the water, and paddled down the stream. I encountered a couple of log jams along the way that I had to climb out and pull the boat past.

The ride was peaceful and quiet.

Along the way I came across this crushed aluminum canoe, yet another sign of foreboding for my trip.

It wasn't all morose. I saw ducks. They were cute.

I think that this might be a great place to kayak on a calmer day. I need to scope out some places where I can put-in perhaps past the water falls just after Saratoga Road.

My planned route started at the Saratoga Road bridge, and ended at the Alplaus Road Bridge, at mile 4.8. After seeing how the river looked after the heavy rains, I put the kayak in the water at around mile 4, so I only kayaked the last mile.

Related Links

* Alplaus Kill Biological Assessment

Related Entries

* Kayaked Upper Alplaus - 09 July 2011

Route: Ballston Creek from Ballston Lake to Round Lake
Distance: 5 miles
Elevation change: 92 feet
Steepest Mile: 60 feet

05/08/12 Trip Report

Finally, the first real rain of the entire season. The forecast called for 100% chance of rain for most of the day totaling more than an inch of rainfall. It never downpoured, but rained steadily throughout some of the night and all day long. At its peak while we paddled, the water level gauge for the Mohawk River in Cohoes reached 40,000 cft/s. For reference, I consider 3,500 to be very low, and 10,000 to on the low-end of high water. 120,000 was the level at the peak during Irene. The first 2 miles were pleasant and easy through the large marshy area. We paddled through an area of tall dead trees where several giant blue herons were flying around their sky nests. It was here that J discovered that his ship was steadily sinking. The long kayak drag to today's put-in had worn a small hole in the back of his kayak. Taking on water would mean lack of control and stability as the boat filled with water followed by regular stops to dump it out. Throughout the ride, the high water level elevated us over many obstacles, although there were several logs requiring either walking around or some fancy footwork to get past. Small portages were always a good opportunity to dump water out of the kayaks. During mile three, the water was swift but generally manageable. Mile 4 involved 60 feet of elevation drop, and there was plenty of water to rush us through it. The thrilling roller coaster ride required intense paddling to survive, and we didn't whoosh through without a few flips. No sooner had we survived the long series of rapids when three tunnels under interstate 87 presented themselves, side-by-side all descending into parallel darkness. Choose your fate. Without much to go on we picked the rightmost one with slightly more water than the others. The inside of the tunnel was completely disorienting. At the midpoint, the tunnel took a left turn, so there were no visible guarantees that there would be an exit on the other side. Our boats, paddles, heads, and hands deflected back and forth against the unseen walls like bowling balls at a five-year-old's bumper bowling birthday bash. The water level at the end of the tunnel was higher than at the beginning of the tunnel, so as we proceeded, the walls were literally closing in around us. A faint spot of light slowly came into view. My sense of direction was so completely lost while floating in the absolute blackness that I mistook the spot of light for a sewer grate on route 87, far overhead. However, as we got closer, the spot of light set like the sun until it reached the horizon at which point it was a huge relief to realize it was in fact the exit. After the tunnel, the creek spread itself out into a large floodplain. Water was rushing through ordinarily dry grass and bushes. At one point J pointed out that "the river is over there". We were kayaking comfortably over a grassy field, and clearly the actual creek was a hundred yards to our left. The only remaining obstacles were a few low bridges before we reached Round Lake and completed the trip. The ride was pretty outrageous, and both of us were happy to be back at the car by the end of it. We have come along way, but today's rapids tested our limits to be sure.

Summary

Time taken to kayak: 2.5 hours
Mohawk River at Cohoes Water Level: 40,000 cft/s (!)

4/3/11 Trip Report

I kayaked the length of Ballston Creek from Ballston Lake to Round Lake. This was my first trip out in the kayak, besides a very short paddle around Ballston Lake a few days earlier. I had to learn as I went. It was pretty scary at times with the fast moving water, the lack of helmet and spray skirt, and my own inexperience. Once a branch clonked my head. I was scared because I had no idea how the kayak was going to respond to conditions. The kayak had felt a little awkward in the lake with no current, but it turned out to respond really well in the fast-moving water. Getting over my fear was largely a matter of learning that the kayak was capable of handling some situations without my influence.

After the swampy section, the creek's fast moving water was scary, particularly at first because I hadn't figured out how to bail out in fast moving water before a difficult spot. I eventually got better and learned to hop out of the boat and walk to shore. My guess is that the area is not usually kayakable, but with the high water after the recent snow melting, it was a bit of a bushwhack, but not too bad. The water was quite cold, as Ballston Lake was still frozen over. I was wearing mostly wool, and stayed luke warm even after wading chest-deep in water once or twice. I took a few breaks to sit in a sunny spot to fight off the cold.

After I reached Round Lake, I locked up the kayak, and ran back to the car.

Summary

Mohawk River at Cohoes Water Level: ~10,000 cft/s

Wildlife

I saw a pair of northern pike in the marshy section near mile 1. One looked huge, and was probably several feet long. Around the same area, there were lots of huge nests in the trees. I believe they were Great Blue Heron nests. There were hordes of ducks and Canadian geese along the way. I saw 2 little creek chubs in the small stream section. I also saw a giant carp in Round Lake.

4/10/12 - It took maybe 3 hours from Krumkill to Mill Rd. I put my hand on a hairy poison ivy vine near the put-in but luckily never got the itch. The water level was noticeably lower than last week, and we scraped bottom badly for long sections of it. Walking was necessary in some areas. Normans Kill Gauge was at 3'.

Related Links

* USGS Water Level Data for the Normans Kill

Related Links

* Short video of the race
* American Whitewater Anthony Kill Page
* YNN News Story
* Article and Video from the Saratogian
* Albany Times Union Article with Pictures
* Photographs from the Schenectady Daily Gazette
* An hour-long video of the race from 1983

Cohoes: I love this place. A romantic setting, perfect for a honeymoon or just a weekend getaway. It's our own local Niagara Falls. Except that in C-Town, we don't set goals, we set fire.

I have been on a kick lately of exploring the Mohawk River just before it empties into the Hudson. The geography is extremely chaotic. Tall cliffs on either side confine the river to it's convoluted path.

Several branches of the river wind around islands and over tall and voluminous waterfalls. The water is surrounded on all sides by man-made constructs such as locks, mills, highways, dams, bridges, and railroads.

Ancient ruins from the industrial age lean and crumble along the shorelines and under the water's surface. Some of the ruins have been beautifully restored like the Lofts Apartments.

The apartments tower over the area's most prominent natural feature, the Cohoes Falls.

But what I really came here to check out is an area of standing waves just below the falls.

The water level today was just over 11'. It looks like it could be a fun place to kayak, and apparently these waves get much more exciting (and eventually dangerous) when the water level is higher.

The following video shows the waves in their standing motion:

A parking lot on the Cohoes side of the river will make for an ideal launch point.

Related Links

* M. Paul Keesler's trip report
* Current USGS Statistics for the area
* A forum discussion on the NE Paddlers Message Board involving this area

Similar Entries

* The nearby Cohoes Wave