Up Manhattan Rivers Without a Paddle

They went to New York to make history--and to do something about this reputation we Southlanders have as being a bunch of sun-fried surf bums . . . like, reinforce it.

“We show up and we’re wearing trunks, Hawaiian shirts and sandals. We stuck out like a sore thumb,” says Derek Levy, 40, a Manhattan Beach chiropractor. “But they were all really good people. They’re not used to people smiling or talking to them on the subways and stuff, but once you did and broke the ice it was like a party.”

Some party.

Levy, his brother Mark and five of their friends--all from the South Bay (and with real jobs)--took along their overgrown surfboards and made history by becoming the first to paddle around Manhattan Island.

Not that anyone else would want to.

The 28 1/2 miles of waterways surrounding this historic piece of real estate are hardly pristine and in fact have been reputed to be downright filthy, though a recent story in the New York Times said the Hudson River is “again a swimmable river and no longer an open sewer and convenient dump site.”

Paddler Mike Lee might not be sold on such a report, having found human excrement adhered to his chest pad down the home stretch on the East River.

Still, the core members of a group called the Southern California Paddleboard Club concluded their 6-hour 8-minute adventure feeling refreshed and unanimously called it one of their most enjoyable journeys ever.

High praise, considering their other accomplishments include paddling across the English Channel and Strait of Gibraltar.

“The other paddles were really long and grueling,” Levy explains, “but on this one there was so much scenery. Our heads were up all the time instead of down. This one took six hours but it went really fast because it was never boring.”

Nor was it merely a sightseeing tour.

Arranging such a trip requires serious planning. A freight company had to be hired to deliver the boards to the exact point of departure, and on time. Weather, currents and tides had to be taken into consideration. And an escort boat and captain had to be hired to obtain permits from the U.S. Coast Guard and New York Police Department.

It all came together perfectly, the paddlers thought, until they saw an NYPD patrol boat speeding in their direction as they entered the water at 96th Street in the East River.

“These guys show up and I thought, ‘Oh, [darn],’ ” Levy recalls. “They thought we were a bunch of crazies from California and didn’t know what we were doing. They thought we were nuts for being in the river.”

Turned out, though, the cops were on the paddlers’ side. Officers Frank Bonventre and Joe Lanzafame, assigned no doubt to ensure that none of the paddlers met with foul play, not only kept an eye on the group from start to finish, they directed traffic and helped assure the paddlers’ success.

“Captain [Tommy Golden of the escort boat] was dumbfounded,” Mark Levy wrote in his post-paddle chronicle. “He couldn’t believe the NYPD was there to help and not hinder us. In all his experience escorting champion swimmers around the island, he had never heard of this type of support from the NYPD. . . .

“From our point of view, however, this awesome support seemed right in line with our changing attitude of New York and New Yorkers altogether.”

Judging from Levy’s log, a group that also included Charlie Didinger, 53; John Matesich, 62; Tim Ritter, 38, and Jeff Horn, 37, enjoyed a unique perspective of the Big Apple while cruising north up the East River, along the Harlem River, into the Hudson River and back down the East River.

A sampling of observations:

* East River: “The sights and sounds along this stretch of the river were almost an assault to the senses. To our left and behind us was the skyline of mid- and downtown Manhattan. In the distance, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building [the consensus favorite of the group] and a zillion other buildings could be seen.

” . . . A multitude of honking cars and beeping trucks intermittently rushed to noisily start and stop in the traffic of the overhead FDR Parkway. Clanging trains snaked in and out of view. It was workday in Manhattan. Our path up the river seemed to cut straight through the myriad noises, industrial odors, and almost palpable electrical charge of the city. For us, the river seemed the only refuge from the city.”

* Harlem River: “Second checkpoint: Yankee Stadium. We were stoked to be floating past ‘the House that Ruth Built’ and to have such a great view to boot! . . . Derek had previously sent us all a great article of Yankee Stadium history and we shared Yankee trivia and folklore while we floated north into Harlem, its namesake river, toward what we expected would be the bowels of New York.”

* Harlem: “As if guarding the entrance to the kingdom, groups of youths could be seen sitting in strategic locations overlooking the river. . . . Surprisingly, no one hassled us in the least. Many even cheered us as we passed. A few old black men could be seen fishing from the banks. One was heard exclaiming, ‘I’ve seen a lot of things, but I ain’t never seen nothing like this.’

“Neither had we. We had expected the worst from Harlem. . . . Instead, we were almost welcomed. While some of us were left feeling somewhat ashamed, all of us were impressed by the experience.”

* Hudson River: “We marveled at the expanse of the Hudson, the beauty of the New Jersey palisades on the other side and the very distant New York City skyline. We still had a long way to go, perhaps 20 miles, before our finish. Though still strong, a few of us were showing signs of tiring. Current assist or not, this paddle would not be a cakewalk.”

* After passing Grant’s Tomb: “ . . . Like a jet blast, a solid 20- to 25-knot wind hit our faces from downriver. Smooth seas made way for one- to three-foot breaking swells and spray. What was seeming an idyllic paddle now became a serious challenge. Seeing was difficult with stinging spray. . . . Many of us had a hard time staying on our boards. . . . Battered and beaten, we worked our way toward downtown.”

* Back in the East River: “Mike Lee was feeling a second wind. . . .”

* East River (Hell’s Gate rapids): “As we passed the United Nations building, we had a blast playing with the rapid current. Waves reverberated off the overhanging concrete slab that ran for a few miles along the left bank. Several of the paddlers caught these and enjoyed the slingshot forward. When the police saw what we were doing, they freaked out.

“This fear was not unfounded as occasional rusted shards of steel rebar poked like daggers from the concrete bank.”

* Back at 96th Street: “We did it. We shot out of Hell’s Gate into a large eddy that lies in front of 96th Street to complete the first successful circumnavigation of Manhattan Island by paddleboard.”

Then it was time, obviously, to hit the showers.