This is the beginning of the story of a journey and visit, which I'll be posting in pieces from time to time in the next week or so. In my typical bass-ackwards way, I'm starting with the return trip. Herewith the photo log of American Airlines Flight 16, SFO to JFK, on Sunday, August 31, 2008.
San Francisco, with the Bay and Golden Gate bridges, and the Marin Headlands and Pacific Ocean in the background.
Another view of The City, with the financial district and Embarcadero in the foreground, Nob Hill on the near right, and Chinatown and North Beach (home of the Beats in the 1950s) just beyond that. The green swatch on the right is the Presidio, and that on the left is Golden Gate Park. The thin green rectangle extending below that is the Panhandle; to the left of that is Haight-Ashbury, famed as the hippie neighborhood of the late 1960s.
Circular agricultural fields created by center-pivot irrigation systems in a Nevada desert valley.
The northern end of the Great Salt Lake. From the plane, the water near the shore of the Lake looked reddish.
A fertile valley with mountains (the Uintas?) to the east.
Unfortunately,the clouds seen in this photo became a solid overcast (from my point of view, undercast) that hid the Tetons and the Snowy Range from sight as we crossed Wyoming.
Sand hills of western Nebraska.
A typical Great Plains scene: small town with grain elevators and landscape divided into square homestead grant sections.
Confluence of the Mississippi and Wisconsin rivers, at Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin.
Milwaukee. Wisconsin is one of three states (the others are South Dakota and Oregon) in which I've never set foot. At least now I have a couple of photos from the air.
New York's Finger Lakes district. From bottom to top: Keuka, Seneca, Cayuga and (very faintly in the background) Owasco lakes.
Hudson River and George Washington Bridge. New Jersey is in the foreground, Manhattan in the center, and the Bronx in the background, separated from Manhattan by the Harlem River, which is here obscured by bluffs on the east side of Manhattan.
Whitestone (foreground) and Throg's Neck bridges, both connecting Queens (on the right) to the Bronx, with the western end of Long Island Sound beyond.
At dusk we were approaching JFK Airport from the south, over the Atlantic. Brooklyn (my home!) is in the background.
It occurs to me that this Allan Sherman classic now begs for an update:
Can't you just hear it: "Sarah Palin, Sarah Palin..."?
A couple of preliminary thoughts:
"How's your running mate?/ He's a real cheap date..."
"How's your son, Track?/ He's goin' to Iraq..."
So, help me out. Anyone who can come up with a complete song will have my eternal admiration and gratitude, not to mention that of the Democratic National Committee.
Every year, I swear I'm going to give up on college football. Too many things are too predictable, like my alma mater South Florida having a three game losing streak after knocking off two pre-season top ten teams (Auburn and West Virginia) and attaining the number two ranking in the AP and USA Today polls last season, then progressing to a miserable drubbing in a minor bowl game. However, there are the wonderful unpredictables, like Appalachian State beating what proved to be an overrated Michigan team in their opener last year.
The boys from Boone couldn't pull off another big opening game upset this year. ASU was mauled, 41-13, by the LSU Bayou Bengals in a game at Baton Rouge that had its kickoff moved ahead from 4 P.M. to 10 A.M. because of Hurricane Gustav. Meanwhile, the Wolverines suffered another opening day defeat, though this time to a more highly rated opponent, Utah.
My USF Bulls romped over the Tennessee-Martin Skyhawks, 56-7, thereby breaking a pattern of struggling in their opener against a lightly-regarded opponent, and not jeopardizing their pre-season ranking of 19th. The Florida Gators, ranked fifth going into the fray, routed Hawaii by 56-10. The Rainbow Warriors, who have had some success moving into the ranks of college football's elite in the past few years, were not the usual sort of pushover Florida has scheduled for its opener. Given that fellow Southeastern Conference team Georgia has a pre-season rank of number one, while LSU and Auburn, both of which won today, are seventh and tenth, respecively, this may be an indication of just how tough the SEC is these days.
On our recent visit to Maine, we stayed with my wife's cousin, Lori, in her house at Cape Elizabeth, near Portland. My second morning there, I was wishing I could do my usual Brooklyn Bridge walk, then remembered that there was a bridge not far away. It wasn't a beautiful suspension bridge, but rather a utilitarian concrete arch with a drawspan near the center, crossing the Fore River estuary from South Portland to Portland. So, I set off northward on Ocean Avenue, turned left onto Broadway, then bore right onto the bridge's pedestrian walkway.
It was a foggy morning, so my view was limited to about a hundred yards as I set out across the bridge.
As I approched the Portland side, the fog had lifted enough for me to make out the docks below.
Here the concrete of the bridge walkway gave way to the cobblestones of the city sidewalk.
As I walked back across the bridge, I heard the roar of a motor below. Looking down, I saw the lobster boat Penalty Box headed toward Casco Bay.
On the way across, I had noticed a ramp coming up to the walkway just before the bridge crossed the south shore of the estuary. Coming back, I went down this ramp, which proved to lead to the foot of Ocean Avenue, thereby cutting about a quarter of a mile, and an unpleasant stretch above a wastewater treatment plant, off my return. At the foot of the ramp was a small park, and railway tracks that led to what must have once been a carfloat dock.
The following morning, the fog wasn't quite so thick. I found the tanker Maple Express, of Panamanian registry, docked on the South Portland side of the estuary, just west of the bridge.
The Dutch freighter Sampogracht was docked on the Portland side. The metal cylinders on her deck look much like the sections of wind turbine tower on the deck of Marlene Green, seen at Eisenhower Lock two days later.
On my reurn leg, I saw The Cat, the big passenger and car carrying catamaran ferry that runs between Portland and Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, heading out toward the Gulf of Maine.
A few minutes later, the clouds had gathered as this tug sailed into the harbor.
After I descended on the ramp from the bridge, things became a little brighter again, as seen in this shot of a boatyard and marina in South Portland.
So, a reporter asked John McCain how many residences he and his wife own, and he (forthrightly) answered with something like, "I'll have to check with my staff and get back to you on that." It's fairly widely known that the McCains, largely because of her fortune, are really, really rich. Richer than the Obamas, who also are a good deal better off than any family that has to sweat out mortgage or rent payments.
OK, here's this public statement by McCain that's low hanging fruit. So low that even the media can be trusted to grasp it and do something, without any help. So why must the Obama campaign not just leave it there? No, they have to grab it and run, prompting McCain's people to chase after them with allegations that Obama somehow got his house through evil Chicago political machinations. So does the discourse of the campaign sink a little further toward cetacean fecal level.
Stick to real issues, not name-calling. It's not fatal. We're not the brain-dead lugs you think we are. Trust me, we'll listen, and judge accordingly.
Update: In a letter to the editor of the San Francisco Chronicle printed in today's paper, Jim Tulip, of Pacific Grove, California, struck a similar note concerning the role of media. Responding to an article with the headline "Revamp message, experts advise slumping Obama", Mr. Tulip observed that
the "experts" report that Sen. Barack Obama's thoughtful answers to complex questions are somehow inferior to Sen. John McCain's shoot-from-the-hip inanities.
He then argues:
If the role of the Fourth Estate is to bear witness to the truth, then shouldn't it be judging the candidates' statements by a higher standard rather than in a way that assumes those statements might be received by the lowest of the so-called low information voters. By accepting the idea that the democracy is in the hands of the uninformed, the media are creating a dangerous self-fulfilling prophecy. If we assume things need to be dumbed down, then they will be.
My friend Geoff, ever alert for chicanery by the present Administration and the GOP, circulated an e-mail a couple of days ago speculating whether Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili might have been "baited" by U.S. assurances that there would be "strong action" by the U.S., and perhaps NATO, if Russia sent troops to respond to a Georgian military incursion into South Ossetia. By so doing, Geoff reasoned, the Bush Administration would have given the McCain campaign a boost by setting up a crisis with Russia that would appear to warrant electing a "tough" and "experienced" leader. If so, this may be working, considering the most recent poll result reported by Reuters.
Today, Mikhail Gorbachev weighed in on the New York Times, op-ed page. In his column, Gorbachev clearly is carrying water for the Medvedev/Putin government, putting the best face on Russia's actions and the worst on Georgia's and those of "the West", including western media. He observes:
If this military misadventure was a surprise for the Georgian leader's foreign patrons, so much the worse. It looks like a classic wag-the-dog story.
It's interesting that he uses the title of a 1997 movie (see trailer above) in which administration aides manufacture a foreign policy crisis in order to divert attention from a charge of sexual misconduct against the President. This movie, obviously inspired by the Clinton/Lewinsky affair, has since been regarded as oddly prescient in some respects, such as the inclusion of a WMD threat (by Albania!) in the invented crisis.
My neighborhood, Brooklyn Heights, is blessed with three very good wine and spirits shops. My "local", Montague Wines & Sprits, is but a few steps from the door of my apartment building. It's small, but stocks a well-chosen selection, and is managed amiably and knowledgeably by Big Jeff and not-so-big Michael. To the north, at the busy corner of Clark and Henry, is Michael-Towne, where I can sometimes find a former law firm colleague hosting a wine tasting, and can almost always find a chilled bottle of my wife's favorite white, Macon-Lugny "Les Charmes".
To the south, on Atlantic Avenue, is Heights Chateau (picture above from their website), the largest of the three. Here, Judy has been unfailingly helpful in finding good, inexpensive wines from various places, and Dominique guided me to some nice French artisinal reds that fit my budget.
On a recent visit to Heights Chateau, I got to chatting with a pleasant young woman at the checkout, during which I mentioned my admiration for Alice Feiring, and that I'd posted on my blog about her. She told me she also had a blog, and that she would e-mail me the URL. About an hour later I got the link to Elana's blog, So Many Wines...So Little Time. Her recent post on The Brandy Library sparked my interest, as I love good eaux de vie and single malt Scotches (the word "whiskey" derives from the Gaelic usquebach, which translates as "water of life", as does the Danish akavit, which derives from the Latin aqua vitae). Her series of posts about her visit to France, featuring Champagne and Burgundy, are informative and entertaining. Finally, hearty congratulations to Elana for completing the requirements for an advanced certificate in wine from the International Wine Center. I do like it that she resists the usual ways of writing about wine. As she puts it:
They teach you to describe [wine] with typical adjectives: fruit forward, oaky, tannic...but I still tend to tell our customers the following: so good it broke my heart, i want to put a straw in it and just drink, killer juice. Then there are my descriptions of some of my favorite spirits: made me break out into a jig, i love to wear it as perfume, or it's like a symphony (that can be used with wine as well). Sometimes you just have to go with that initial feeling.
Update: Eric Asimov, in his "The Pour" column in today's New York Times, praises California vintners, like John Williams of Frog's Leap, who are producing old school, subtle, balanced wines, as opposed to Parkerillas. I suspect Elana and Alice will join me in cheering Eric's espousal of terroir.
According to Frank Rich's column in today's New York Times, Jerome Corsi, author of the cleverly titled The Obama Nation (and earlier co-author of the Kerry smear book Unfit to Command), has accused the McCain campaign of accepting substantial contributions from a group with links to Al Qaeda (see here) and claimed that "McCain's personal fortune traces back to organized crime in Arizona" (see here). For what it's worth, Corsi has also insinuated a link between the McCain campaign and Russian organized crime.
Rich observes:
Corsi's writings have been repeatedly promoted by Sean Hannity on Fox News; Corsi's publisher, Mary Matalin, has praised her author's "scholarship."
Nevertheless, there are some people on the right side of the political spectrum, like Jon Henke, who characterize Corsi as a "smear artist" who has made "gross errors" and is one of the "hatchet men, bullies and political hit men" who "serve to discredit us [conservatives] all."
Then, again, if Hannity and Matalin are right about Corsi, should we, as Rich suggests, take him seriously about McCain?
Over the past couple of months, I've received a lot of hits on my blog off web searches for "Eisenhower Lock", about which I've posted before here and here. I asked my mother-in-law, who lives in Massena, New York, a mile or so from the Lock, why this might be. She said the Lock has its fiftieth anniversary this year. When we visited Massena a couple of weeks ago, I made my usual trip to the Lock.
I arrived as the classic laker Maritime Trader was locking through. Here she is, leaving the Lock and headed upriver in ballast toward Lake Ontario and her home port of Hamilton. By "classic laker" I mean a ship built specifically for Great Lakes/St. Lawrence River trade, with the traditional design (dating back to 1869--see under "Old Style Lake Boat" in Herb's Lake Boatshere) having the superstructure containing the bridge and crew quarters at the bow, and the engine room, another deckhouse and the funnel at the stern.
About an hour after Maritime Trader departed, another classic laker of Canadian registry, Ojibway, entered the Lock. Back in January, I posted about the thinning of the ranks of classic lakers, but those that survive are, I reckon, more likely to be found trading between St. Lawrence River ports and the Lakes, because they are small enough to fit the St. Lawrence Seaway locks.
Here's a closer view of Ojibway's forward deckhouse and bridge. Note the bowsprit often found on classic lakers.
Canadienne bakin' on Ojibway's fantail.
Ojibway leaving the lock, bound upriver toward the Lakes. According to the chalkboard at the Lock's Visitor Center, she was carrying a cargo of coke (presumably the kind burned in steel mill furnaces) to some destination in Ohio.
Closely behind Ojibway came the "salty" (i.e. oceangoing) freighter Marlene Green. The chalkboard listed her cargo as "windmill", which I thought seemed appropriate for a ship of Dutch registry.
Here's a close view of Marlene's wheelhouse and bridge as she sits low in the Lock.
Here's another view of Marlene's superstructure, and one of her deck cranes, after she had been lifted to departure level.
The metal tubes and truncated cones stowed on Marlene's deck are sections of a tower that will hold up a giant wind-driven electrical generating turbine. The turbine blades are probably stowed in the hold below.
Here is Marlene heading out of the Lock and upriver toward her destination in Michigan. Later on the same day, Tugster photographed her on her way past the Thousand Islands.
As a service to readers who may be visiting Eisenhower Lock or other Seaway vantage points, I'm putting here (as I did on an earlier post) a link to the Seaway web site, which has a further link to a map showing the positions of vessels navigating the Seaway.
A while back I acquired a copy of William Baer's Writing Metrical Poetry. After reading some introductory material, and learning about iambs (duh-DAH: think, "I WAN-dered LONE-ly AS a CLOUD"); trochees (DAH-duh: think, "ONCE up-ON a MID-night DREAR-y"); anapests (DAH-duh-duh: think, "THIS is the FOR-est pri-ME-val, the MUR-mur-ing PINES and the HEM-locks"; yes, that's a trochee at the end); and dactyls (duh-duh-DAH: think of where the Lone Ranger takes his garbage, "To the DUMP, to the DUMP..."), feet (iambs, etc.) to the line (scansion), rhyme schemes, slant rhymes, and so forth, I got to my first assignment. This was to write a four line poem, in "common measure", about a historical figure. Common measure is a rhythmic/rhyme scheme often used for hymns. A verse in common measure consists of two lines of iambic tetrameter (four iambs to the line) alternating with two lines of iambic trimeter (three to the line), with an abab rhyme scheme; for example:
A-MAZ-ing GRACE how SWEET the SOUND That SAVED a WRETCH like ME, I ONCE was LOST, but NOW am FOUND, Was BLIND but NOW I SEE.
(If you want to give yourself a very bad earworm, realize that you can sing "Amazing Grace" to the tune of the theme song from Gilligan's Island, which is also in common measure.)
Anyway, while thinking of a name that would fit well into such a metric scheme, "Wilberforce" came to mind. Of course, this would be Bishop Samuel "Soapy Sam" Wilberforce, famous for his debate with Thomas Huxley over Darwin's theory of evolution. So, here's my poem:
THE BALLAD OF SOAPY SAM AND TART-TONGUED TOM
When Bishop Wilberforce denied An ape could be his kin, The clever Huxley then replied: “I’d rather ape than him.”
In writing this, I violated several of Baer's instructions. For example: (1) the tone of the poem is humorous, not heroic; (2) I used two historical figures, not one; and (3) I used a slant rhyme ("kin/him"). I also played hob with history a bit: Wilberforce didn't squarely deny simian ancestry; he just asked Huxley on which side of his family tree his monkey forebears could be found. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it. Try singing it to the tune of "Amazing Grace".
8/13 Update: On the subject of evolution, there's a great column by Olivia Judson on the op-ed page of today's New York Times.
My eye was caught by this strung-together word on a bus-side ad for a TV show called Baisden After Dark. It struck me that the first word in this compound has, in our popular culture, become antithetical to the other two; that is, being intellectual implies being both uncool and un-funky. As to the connection between the other two, I'm sure it's possible to be funky without being cool, but not sure if one can be cool without being funky. Whether it's possible to be intellectual and cool but not funky might be called the "Barack Obama question".
If one could translate this compound word into French, it would probably not raise any eyebrows. (Do the French make compound words? It seems altogether too German.) There is a long tradition of Gallic intellectualfunkycoolness, going back at least to Rabelais. Even here, it was possible to be intellectual, funky and cool in the 1950s and 60s (think of the Beats). Who manages the trick today? Perhaps Mr. Baisden, if he lives up to his ad copy. One candidate I'll nominate is Joe Maddon.
Any other suggestions?
Update: Maybe Joe Maddon isn't so funky, after all:
In 1975 I went to a party in a big old apartment building on Riverside Drive at about 75th Street, in Manhattan's Upper West Side. There was another party going on in a nearby apartment, and guests from both parties were mingling on the landing next to the stairway. I heard some laughing and clapping, and went out to see what was going on. A man with long, dark hair, evidently well in his cups, was doing an impromptu dance. Just after I arrived on the landing, he said, "I'm going to bring my friend out. He's had monster hits." He went into the apartment where the other party was going on, and emerged a moment later accompanied by a stocky man with short, salt-and-pepper hair, carrying a twelve string guitar, who launched into "Walk Right In", a 1963 number one hit for The Rooftop Singers. When the song and the applause were over, I said "You're Erik Darling."
He held out his hand and I introduced myself. He introduced me to his tipsy friend, who was Nashville based singer-songwriter Vince Matthews. They invited me to join them at the other party, which was being given by a woman who hosted a country music program on one of the local not-for-profit FM stations (if I recall correctly, it was WKCR, the Columbia University station). The hostess greeted me, and we gathered in a circle on the floor for a sing-along, accompanied by Erik's guitar. Vince and I sang "On Susan's Floor", a song he co-wrote with Shel Silverstein and which was recorded by Gordon Lightfoot and later by Hank Williams, Jr., and Erik entertained us with "Al Perrin", a song about one of the characters he had known while growing up in charming Canandaigua, New York.
Vince's claim that Erik had "monster hits" was correct. One of his earliest musical accomplishments was creating and recording, along with Bob Carey and Roger Sprung, musicians that he met playing in Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village, the arrangement of the Appalachian ballad "Tom Dooley" that became the first, and a number one, hit for the Kingston Trio. Before the Rooftop Singers and "Walk Right In", Erik was a member of the Tarriers, a folk group formed in Greenwich Village in 1955, originally as the Tunetellers. Another member of the group was the then future actor Alan Arkin, who also became a director of , among other films, Little Murders (which I saw last night, for the first time in 37 years, at the BAM Rose Cinema). The third member, Bob Carey, was African American, making this one of the first, if not the first, interracial folk groups. In 1956, Art D'Lugoff, owner of the Village Gate, asked the Tarriers to back up Vince Martin on "Cindy, Oh Cindy":
The song charted in 1956, and I remember it, and Vince's haunting tenor, from my fifth grade year. It was later covered by, among others, Andy Williams, the Highwaymen (of "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore" fame), and the Beach Boys.
"Cindy's" tune was based on a Jamaican song. In this respect, it proved a bellwether. The Tarriers' first hit on their own account was "The Banana Boat Song", which Erik created by fusing two Jamaican songs he learned from fellow Washington Square singer Bob Gibson. This song, released in November of 1956, and in early 1957 rose to number four on the Billboard pop chart. Harry Belafonte contemporaneously released a similar song, "Day O (Banana Boat Song)" whih didn't include the "hill and gully rider" chorus that Gibson included in the Tarriers' version. Belafonte's version also charted in 1957, but by one digit less than the Tarriers', which was was later covered by Shirley Bassey and by the Kinks. There's an interesting account of its history here. The Tarriers also did a version of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight", which was taken to number one by the Tokens in 1961. This was an adaptation of a Zulu song which, under the title "Wimoweh", had earlier been a hit for the Weavers. Erik later left the Tarriers to join the Weavers, replacing Pete Seeger.
I first became aware of Erik by name in the late 1960s, when I began collecting folk albums and saw him credited as an accompanist, either on guitar or banjo, on many of them. Below is a clip of the Rooftop Singers doing their hit "Walk Right In". Erik is the shorter of the two men. The woman is Lynne Taylor, whose vocal style evinces her background as a jazz singer. The tall man is Bill Svanoe, who remained a close friend until the end of Erik's life, which came last Sunday, at the age of 74.
That's me, on Kent Locke's farm in Barnstead, New Hampshire, carefully selecting the plumpest, ripest berries from a burgeoning bush. (What's this thing I have with alliterationsinvolving the letter "B"?) Anyway, my wife, her cousin Lori and I picked like mad for about ten minutes, which was more than enough to bucket enough berries for a bodacious pie (There I go again!) and have plenty left over to supplement morning cereal. The bill? A mere two bucks a pint (normal fare was three, but, being 62, I qualified for Locke's senior discount). Below, behold the bounty borne by a single branch of a bush (Yikes! Am I possessed by some hoary Anglo-Saxon spirit, or perhaps that of Gerard Manley Hopkins?):
The beauty of the berries did not prove deceptive. They were the perfect combination of sweet, tart, and that ineffable musky taste that good blueberries have.
In an earlier post (one to which I've already linked in this one; forgive me if I've taken you there twice), I included a photo of a six-point buck that casually sauntered across my path in the village of Shoreham, on Long Island, a couple of weeks ago, then paused long enough for me to shoot his photo. On the road back from Locke's, this white-tailed doe, by crossing a busy highway, proved that the female of the species can engage in more dangerous escapades than the male:
I'm in far northern New York State, on a brief vacation. Please bear with me until Thursday, when I get back to dear old Brooklyn and resume posting as usual. Thanks.
On Saturday I went to Pier 40 near the west end of Houston Street in Manhattan, there to board the former Lehigh Valley Railroad tug Cornell (see above) for a cruise around New York Harbor sponsored by the Twin Forks Chapter (Long Island) of the National Railway Historical Society. The purpose of this excursion was to view sites where railway traffic became waterborne. Cornell was one of the LV tugs, known as the "Four Aces" (the others were Cornell's sister Lehigh and the larger Hazelton and Wilkes-Barre), that picked up barges loaded with railway cars from LV's eastern terminus at Jersey City and brought them across the harbor to Manhattan, Brooklyn or Queens. There they would either be unloaded and their contents delivered to local consignees or transshipped onto freighters for export, or they would be sent on other railroads for shipment to destinations on Long Island or to the north. A similar service on a smaller scale, between New Jersey and Brooklyn only, is provided today by Cross Harbor Railroad.
When I reached the gangway leading to Cornell's main deck, I saw a sign announcing that she had gone on an emergency mission, but would be back by 11:00 A.M. to pick up passengers for the cruise. Someone on deck beckoned me to come on board, and told me that Cornell had been called on to go up the Hudson about half a mile and try to pull John J. Harvey, a retired New York City fireboat that has been preserved and is also used for harbor cruises, from a mudbank on which she was stuck. There were several other passengers already aboard Cornell, and we were all delighted by this opportunity to see her perform a true tugboat task.
Not long after I boarded we left on our mission. Here you see a Fire Department crewman (an FDNY fireboat is stationed at Pier 40) casting off the bow line to Paul, who served as a deckhand on Cornell for this voyage.
After Cornell left her berth, we passed Lilac, a retired Coast Guard lightship tender that is undergoing extensive renovation.
Going up the Hudson River, we passed the former Erie Lackawanna terminal in Hoboken, New Jersey. Here passengers would shuttle from commuter and intercity trains to ferries for the final leg of their journey to New York City. The need for ferries lessened with the completion of what is now the PATH (Port Authority Trans Hudson) subway in 1908, and the Holland and Lincoln auto tunnels in the 1920s and 30s. Now, however, ferry service is again becoming popular, and may become more so as people forsake commuting by car because of fuel prices.
We found Harvey, flying the Irish flag from her mainmast, wedged into mud outboard of the retired, and under restoration, lightship Frying Pan (so called because she once warned mariners away from the Frying Pan Shoals near Cape Fear, North Carolina). Cornell had to be wedged into the space between Frying Pan's bow and Harvey's stern in order to make lines fast to Harvey. This task was made extra difficult by I-beams placed around Frying Pan to protect her hull. Nevertheless, we were able to get in and make fast in good time. Below is a video of Cornell making fast to Harvey, then of Harvey being pulled free.
Once we had freed Harvey, people on the pier who were waiting to board her for a cruise loudly cheered Cornell. Could I resist waving back, even though I'd had nothing to do with the operation? Of course not.
This is Matt, skipper and owner of Cornell. He was hospitable and helpful with questions about the vessel and tugboat operations generally. To top it off (literally and figuratively), he wore a Mets cap.
Ann, an experienced mariner, had the wheel and control of the engines throughout the voyage. She was sometimes "assisted" by her three year old daughter.
After freeing Harvey, we went south past the Battery and into Buttermilk Channel, between Brooklyn and Governor's Island. We pulled into a slip on the Governor's Island side, next to the small harbor tanker Capt. Log, from which Cornell took on fuel. The large white hulled vessel beyond Capt. Log is Islander, which used to ferry passengers and cars from Woods Hole, Massachusetts, to Martha's Vineyard.
While we were refueling, a group of kayakers paddled by. The yellow vessel in the background is a New York Water Taxi, part of one of the ferry services that have started up in the past few years.
Near the southern end of our voyage, we passed the small tanker Tradewind Passion, anchored just inside the Narrows separating Brooklyn from Staten Island. In the background is the port of Bayonne, New Jersey.
These are docks for car floats; that is, barges carrying railroad cars. The tracks on the decks of the floats connect to tracks on land, so that the cars can be coupled to locomotives and pulled off the floats. These docks, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, have recently been restored to working condition but have not yet been put into operation, as the fencing attests. Car float traffic to Brooklyn now goes to docks further north, in the Bush Terminal.
Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson designed four large artificial waterfalls that are in operation this summer: one at the northern tip of Governor's Island, one just below the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, one below the eastern tower of the Brooklyn Bridge (shown in the photo as seen from Cornell going north on the East River), and one on the Manhattan side between the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges.
Between the Manhattan and Williamsburgh (seen in the background) Bridges, we passed the classically proportioned yacht or excursion vessel Lexington, as she was overtaking Glen Cove pushing a loaded barge.
Ann's steady hand is on the wheel.
As we approached the site of the former Brooklyn Navy Yard, we saw the beneficiary of our earlier rescue, Harvey, come out into the River ahead of us.
While we were passing the Downtown Heliport, a chopper soared up in front of the massive 55 Water Street office building.
Here is Cornell back at her berth, displaying the Lehigh Valley's "black diamond" (carriage of coal was the road's principal revenue source) logo on her funnel. Update:Cornell now has her own website.
San Francisco, with the Bay and Golden Gate bridges, and the Marin Headlands and Pacific Ocean in the background.
Another view of The City, with the financial district and Embarcadero in the foreground, Nob Hill on the near right, and Chinatown and North Beach (home of the Beats in the 1950s) just beyond that. The green swatch on the right is the Presidio, and that on the left is Golden Gate Park. The thin green rectangle extending below that is the Panhandle; to the left of that is Haight-Ashbury, famed as the hippie neighborhood of the late 1960s.
Circular agricultural fields created by center-pivot irrigation systems in a Nevada desert valley.
The northern end of the Great Salt Lake. From the plane, the water near the shore of the Lake looked reddish.
A fertile valley with mountains (the Uintas?) to the east.
Sand hills of western Nebraska.
A typical Great Plains scene: small town with grain elevators and landscape divided into square homestead grant sections.
Confluence of the Mississippi and Wisconsin rivers, at Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. 
Milwaukee. Wisconsin is one of three states (the others are South Dakota and Oregon) in which I've never set foot. At least now I have a couple of photos from the air.
New York's Finger Lakes district. From bottom to top: Keuka, Seneca, Cayuga and (very faintly in the background) Owasco lakes. 
Hudson River and George Washington Bridge. New Jersey is in the foreground, Manhattan in the center, and the Bronx in the background, separated from Manhattan by the Harlem River, which is here obscured by bluffs on the east side of Manhattan.
Whitestone (foreground) and Throg's Neck bridges, both connecting Queens (on the right) to the Bronx, with the western end of Long Island Sound beyond. 
At dusk we were approaching JFK Airport from the south, over the Atlantic. Brooklyn (my home!) is in the background.
