Down the Delaware

We are four canoes’ worth of people and gear: five schoolteachers, a carpenter, a chemist, an engineer, tents, sleeping bags, cook kits, steaks, dried fruit, beer, a shovel, hatchets, extra clothes, and fishing rods. At Hancock, N.Y., where the East and West Branches of the Delaware flow together to form the big river, we launch our little flotilla for the third consecutive spring.

The broad Delaware, which forms the Pennsylvania—New York border, quickly catches us in its idyllic flow, and its riverine rhythms wash away suburban concerns. The river forms a world of its own: in 1976, no longer a private world—thanks to the exploding popularity of canoeing as a recreation and diversion, if not a sport—but still removed, and often sustaining an illusion of privacy.

KZ

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Karl R. Zimmermann

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We are four canoes’ worth of people and gear: five schoolteachers, a carpenter, a chemist, an engineer, tents, sleeping bags, cook kits, steaks, dried fruit, beer, a shovel, hatchets, extra clothes, and fishing rods. At Hancock, N.Y., where the East and West Branches of the Delaware flow together to form the big river, we launch our little flotilla for the third consecutive spring.

The broad Delaware, which forms the Pennsylvania—New York border, quickly catches us in its idyllic flow, and its riverine rhythms wash away suburban concerns. The river forms a world of its own: in 1976, no longer a private world—thanks to the exploding popularity of canoeing as a recreation and diversion, if not a sport—but still removed, and often sustaining an illusion of privacy.