The Rediscovery Of New York City

When I have seen a brant, I will not be denied. "Listen, Bennett, you simple boob," I shouted. "Don't tell me that isn't a brant. I have seen the common brant, species bernicla, often enough in the Audubon Water Bird Guide. It's a brant. And furthermore," I continued in full voice, "that little bird next to it is a baldpated grebe, commonly found in the very same bird book."

Bennett finally admitted I had seen a brant, largely, I suspect, to restore order on the marsh. My shouting had put a flock of black ducks into the air and unsettled a clot of serious bird watchers 50 yards down the trail.

Most of today the wind was astern, pushing us along. This journey, like others I have enjoyed, rushed to an end. Although paddling was easy, I found little to savor in the last three miles. We were on a fixed course. We knew where we were going and why. The sun felt flat, and the birds looked all alike. In the last mile, just before we entered Shell-bank Basin and hauled our canoes out, we passed a head of land. A gray-haired man basking near the water in the warmth of the day called out to us. "You guys really have the racket," he said, "paddling in canoes, nice and easy."

"It's quite a racket," I called back. "The first 50 miles are sometimes tough, but then it's downhill all the way."

We had wandered for five days on forgotten water. I will never be able to travel through, under, or over the many parts of the city with the indifference I once did. The next time I land at Kennedy Airport I will be pressed against the window, looking for Ruffle Bar and the big pond where I really did see a brant. I doubt if I will ever take off from La Guardia Airport without remembering I once paddled under it. Straphanging on interborough subways, I will be wondering just what water I am under. When I drive on the high bridges that leap from the middle of one borough to another, I will be looking down, trying to pick out some place of remembrance: the garbage dock, Pugsley Creek, the cove where we waited for the tide to turn, the old fort where we slept and the Moby Dick where Ida the Spider danced. New York is unforgettable once you have had a slow look at it from low down in a canoe.