Chris paddles along the face of a rock wall on Delware River, Sept. 2005.
Chris and Tim make their way down the upper Delware River, Sept. 2005. 
Our camp site was on a small island in the middle of the Delware River.This was our first trip on the Delaware River, for Chris' birthday. Me, Chris and Tim dropped in at the Roebling Bridge (Lackawaxen, PA and Minisink Ford, NY). We arranged for a friend, Mike, who lives up that way, to shuttle for us. Our goal was to paddle to 'an island' in the middle of the Delaware River, camp overnight, then finish the last leg of the trip in the morning, ending at Dingman's Ferry. Well, we met our goal ... after about 8 hours and 25 miles of paddling in mostly still water.
Me and Chris took our Big Guns (doubles) and Tim took his new single. We were loaded to the gills -- I even had firewood (cedar scraps) bundled up and loaded into the bow of my boat. Add camping gear, beer and chow and we were floating heavy -- with no spray skirts (what were we thinking?) None of us tipped, so I guess it wasn't that outrageous.
My first bald eagle sightings were on this trip. And we saw numerous bald eagles, so many in fact that after awhile we sort of took it for granted, "Oh yeah, there's another one."
We hit a few whitewater riffles (class I) along the way. At the still spots, we could see schools of fish pass beneath us.
At one point, when morale was low, I pointed way off into the distance to a tower on top of a mountain and joked, "See that? That's where we have to paddle."
Then Chris chimed in with the sobering, bad news, "Actually, that's the obelisk at High Point. We have to go past that."
Tim was visibly demoralized, but pressed on.
We stopped for only a few quick breaks and paddled until our hands hurt. Because the river was pushing slow, we just made it to the camping island before nightfall. It was really cool, actually. The ground covering was beach sand, there was a fire ring and logs to sit on. A sign in a clearing that read 'toilet' led you to a clearing in the bushes -- pretty funny (although in-season there's probably a Port O' John there). We had the island to ourselves.
We had just enough time to set up the tents before it got dark. Then we chowed down some wet hoagies and roasted hot dogs over the campfire. "Filet mignon," Tim said of his charred Oscar Meyer. No one even had the energy to get buzzed. We leaned lifeless on the logs beside the fire for a bit, then all turned in for the night.
The next day we had about 10 miles to go, so it was a quick paddle to Dingman's. And, even though it was a slow paddle, it was still one of the most memorable trips we've had.
Me and Chris took our Big Guns (doubles) and Tim took his new single. We were loaded to the gills -- I even had firewood (cedar scraps) bundled up and loaded into the bow of my boat. Add camping gear, beer and chow and we were floating heavy -- with no spray skirts (what were we thinking?) None of us tipped, so I guess it wasn't that outrageous.
My first bald eagle sightings were on this trip. And we saw numerous bald eagles, so many in fact that after awhile we sort of took it for granted, "Oh yeah, there's another one."
We hit a few whitewater riffles (class I) along the way. At the still spots, we could see schools of fish pass beneath us.
At one point, when morale was low, I pointed way off into the distance to a tower on top of a mountain and joked, "See that? That's where we have to paddle."
Then Chris chimed in with the sobering, bad news, "Actually, that's the obelisk at High Point. We have to go past that."
Tim was visibly demoralized, but pressed on.
We stopped for only a few quick breaks and paddled until our hands hurt. Because the river was pushing slow, we just made it to the camping island before nightfall. It was really cool, actually. The ground covering was beach sand, there was a fire ring and logs to sit on. A sign in a clearing that read 'toilet' led you to a clearing in the bushes -- pretty funny (although in-season there's probably a Port O' John there). We had the island to ourselves.
We had just enough time to set up the tents before it got dark. Then we chowed down some wet hoagies and roasted hot dogs over the campfire. "Filet mignon," Tim said of his charred Oscar Meyer. No one even had the energy to get buzzed. We leaned lifeless on the logs beside the fire for a bit, then all turned in for the night.
The next day we had about 10 miles to go, so it was a quick paddle to Dingman's. And, even though it was a slow paddle, it was still one of the most memorable trips we've had.
