The tall steel buildings blocked out the sunshine as I walked in the shadows of human ingenuity on a warm June evening. I had just moved back to the East Coast after a season working at a Utah ski resort and was resigned to letting my mountain self lay fallow as I enjoyed the culture and energy of NYC.
I can’t remember where the invite came from. But one evening that summer, I found myself headed to a pier on the Hudson River to join a group kayaking tour after work. At first, I admit, I was resistant to the idea.
Growing up, I’d always heard that the Hudson River was polluted. Definitely not a body of water you wanted to get close to. The internet, however, told a different story. It turned out that despite the historic decimation of oysters and the years of industrial dumping into the river, a small army of advocates had slowly worked to create a cleaner and safer river. Before heading to the pier, I checked one of the local non-profit’s water quality monitoring maps. I was relieved to see that today, the Hudson River was designated “safe.”
I passed bars packed with happy hour crowds as I walked into the Manhattan Kayak Company’s boathouse, perched on the western edge of the city. After swapping our button-downs for bathing suits, we slid into our kayaks. The waves of the inlet lapped against the dock and threatened to capsize us before our adventure even began.


The dock runs parallel to the famed USS Intrepid museum ship. As others geared up and practiced a few kayaking strokes, I was able to slowly paddle over to the colossal gray behemoth streaked with rust and age since its WWII heyday. From the water, I could only see the curve of the ship rising above my head. Its incredible 893-foot reach stretched from shore out into the river.
We turned west, away from Manhattan. The sun was setting directly in front of us, coloring the New Jersey coastline with pinks and oranges. Turning north, we made our way along the shore, seeing the underbelly of NYC. The reedy, all-encompassing algae growing on the wet barricades that held up the polished Hudson River Greenway extending above us. We passed the decaying foundation of a once-bustling warehouse; passed quiet cruise ships, docked and dark, waiting to light up for their next ocean-bound extravaganza.
The sun had fully set as we made our way back to the boathouse, yet it wasn’t dark. The lights illuminating Manhattan above reflected vividly on the water. Just a few hundred feet away, millions of people were huddled up in claustrophobic apartments, bustling through world-famous production studios, and striking deals in towering international business centers. Yet somehow, I managed to find the solace of a kayak journey within the never-ending hustle of this vibrant metropolis.
Turns out, this urban jungle might just have outdoor adventure after all.



A few weeks later, a friend and I found ourselves rallying early on a sunny Saturday morning. Our goal for the day was a self-proclaimed Brooklyn triathlon: a full day of biking, kayaking and eating. We set out to discover Red Hook, a neighborhood known for its art galleries, Ikea and key lime pie. It was also home to a small volunteer-run boathouse: the Red Hook Boaters.
Since my adventure on the Hudson River, I learned there was a network of over 20 boathouses in the five boroughs. Each was unique and offered a variety of services and activities throughout the humid NYC summer.
We arrived at Red Hook, locked up our bikes and prepared for phase two of our Brooklyn triathlon. Nestled between a narrow pier and a mass of barnacle-covered rocks was the put-in. Stepping carefully, we helped carry the colorful sit-on-top kayaks down to the small sandy beach below.
We paddled out towards Lady Liberty to take a few photos—even locals love a good tourist shot sometimes—and then turned toward Gowanus Bay. The waterway had long been a dumping ground for the industries that line its shores. Today’s trip was a fundraiser for ongoing clean-up efforts for the area. After settling into our rhythm, I looked up to find myself surrounded by concrete and graffiti. A highway ran overhead; it wasn’t scenic or peaceful, but it was New York. And it was beautiful.
As the summer wore on, I continued to explore different boathouses across all five boroughs. One especially humid morning in mid-July, I got up early to traverse Brooklyn. I left behind the dense, vast skyscrapers for neighborhoods filled with houses and driveways. After an hour-long bus ride we finally arrived at the boathouse. On the southeastern edge of the borough, a block away from the bus stop, was the Sebago Canoe Club.
This boathouse was even more expansive, filled with sea kayaks, sailboats—even a dory. Instead of paddling straight out into a river, we navigated past docks full of motorized boats before the channel opened up into the 18,000-acre Jamaica Bay, a wetland estuary larger than all of Manhattan.
Here we found both the expansiveness of paddling open water as well as quiet channels and coves covered in marshland. Jamaica Bay is a birder’s paradise with over 300 bird species. Shorebirds peeked their heads out of the grass, and falcons flew overhead. Even though I’m not much of a birder, I knew I was somewhere special. The bay was devoid of the ferries, cruise ships and shipping containers of the other waterways. Here, it was all about recreation—just a small group of New Yorkers who had found their way to water.
It was easy to forget about outdoor recreation when I first moved to New York City. Yet, I came to recognize that Manhattan is an island surrounded by paddle-able water and a network of boathouses with kayaks, canoes and docks to connect the land with water.
While it took some curiosity and effort on my part to find these boathouses, there is incredible network of passionate volunteers and leaders dedicated to creating ongoing paddling opportunities. These community boathouses unlocked a new way for me to connect with nature and rediscover the city I already thought I knew.





***
Guest Contributor Sarah L. Knapp is the founder of OutdoorFest and Mappy Hour, a community platform that connects urban dwellers to outdoor recreation in cities. She is the former publisher of award-winning green travel publication, offMetro. Her writing can be found at Outside, Travel & Leisure and Lonely Planet. She believes that the best way to explore a city is by bike and the best place to get to know someone is outside.
Photography courtesy of Sarah L. Knapp, Manhattan Kayak Co., Red Hook Boaters, and Sebago Canoe Club.