Ice Yachting: Describing the Ride of a Lifetime

With its intoxicating combination of danger, beauty and unpredictability, ice yachting on the Hudson held a powerful public fascination particularly in the days before ice clearing for year-round shipping made much of the Hudson largely unsuited for the sport. At its peak in the 1880s and 1890s, ice yachting seemed proof that human daring could triumph over industrial technology as depicted in popular newspaper and magazine illustrations of impromptu races between ice boats and the steam locomotives that ran along both banks of the Hudson.

The mystique of ice yachting was partially due to its unpredictable occurrence. Sailing conditions were so dependent on a complex set of variables (ice thickness and consistency, air temperature and precipitation, wind speed and direction) that some years offered only one or two suitable racing days in an entire season. The sport's fickle nature required lavish patience but also added to its intriguing appeal.

When the much anticipated sailing conditions were finally right, the community seemed to sense it. As many as 2,000 spectators would appear along the banks of the Hudson in New Hamburg, Hyde Park or Poughkeepsie to watch the ice yacht races. Few could help but wonder what it would be like to hang over the ice face down clinging to plank rails while sailing at speeds faster than the wind itself.

Those who actually experienced it tried hard to satisfy the curiosity of others with first person accounts of their adventures. Wealthy ice yachtsmen like John A. Roosevelt and Archibald Rogers of Hyde Park and Norman "Cap" Wright of Poughkeepsie were interviewed about their experiences or wrote their own descriptions for sportsmen's magazines. Reporters—whether getting the ride of a lifetime or merely observing the colorful scenery—tried to capture for their readers as best they could the magic of this thrilling winter pastime along the Hudson.

The following first person account published in Outing Magazine in February of 1899 was written by Poughkeepsie ice yachtsman and sculler, Norman Wright (1847-1935). Wright became interested in rowing while

attending to business interests in Minnesota where he founded the Minnesota Boat Club in 1870 and became its champion sculler.

In Poughkeepsie, Wright was a founding member of the Apokeepsing Boat Club in 1879. By 1922, Wright held the record for having rowed more miles on the Hudson than any other person in the county—in excess of 10,000 miles. On most days, Wright could be found either rowing or cycling long distances or playing whist, bridge or billiards at the gentlemen's Amrita Club where he was considered the club expert in all three games. In winter, Wright proved himself a highly skilled ice yachtsman, twice winning the American championship. In his later years, Wright regularly showed up at Roosevelt Point in Hyde Park to give young helmsmen "pointers" on ice sailing. At age 88, despondent over losing his eyesight and no longer able to take to the river, "Captain" Wright committed suicide in 1935.

Norman Wright: "...Many years ago `Tom' Parish established the reputation of being the most fearless and reckless ice-yachtsman on the Hudson River. Nothing daunted him; snow hummocks and jagged masses of heavy ice were jumped or smashed into, until his boat was torn and splintered, as if raked by shrapnel. His favorite amusement was to take out for a sail any unsuspecting visitors from the metropolis, and, if there was not wind enough to enable him to capsize, or by a sudden turn fling them sprawling and helpless from the yacht, he would deliberately sail into the nearest air-hole or ferry track.

Dick Night came next, with his rare ability to handle the tiller in many winning races, until he became so aggressive as to disregard the rules governing the course.

Since the building of ice-yachts of 600 square feet of canvas and over [John A. Roosevelt's mammoth Icicle carried 1,070 square feet in 1886], there have been so many narrow escapes from collisions that the number of entries for challenge races have been by common consent very much limited.

In the old days a fleet of twelve to eighteen yachts cutting diagonal on the river was a great sight for spectators. Of late the H.R.I.Y.C. [Hudson River Ice Yacht Club] seldom enters more than four or five to defend the flag that indicates supremacy of the world. Even with this small

number of competitors, the great majority of spectators prudently stay ashore. It is not always safe to watch the vagaries of ice-boats. Sometimes they take the bit, run away, and dash themselves to pieces. One of these accidents was remarkable. A fierce northwest gale of many flaws and variations started the Jack Frost from her anchorage. Commodore Rogers, standing near by, jumped after her, but only caught the end of the boom, from whence he was quickly flung. The yacht, with a guiding runner all on a swing, rushed toward a bunch of skaters and onlookers, and finally, at terrific speed, made directly for them. She barely missed them, dashing between two yachts directly against the rocky shore, a complete wreck.

The Avalanche, an enormous lateen of 841 square feet, weighing 3,008 pounds, ran away with E. Harrison Sanford, owner, finally tossing him out; then, after several uncertain turns, as if satisfied with the scare to her helmsman, came up into the wind and stopped. Sanford had enough of the lateen model, and at once had her dismantled and turned into a sloop... .Dr. J.C. Barron's yacht Northern Light, although one of the swiftest, is unquestionably the most dangerous of all boats, as if possessed of an evil spirit that too frequently threatens her helmsman or anyone within her range.

When in some of her tantrums, the rudder loses its grip and she flies

Northern Light turning the stake at Poughkeepsie in the race for the Ice Yacht Challenge Pennant ofAmerica (February 14, 1887). FDR Library and Archives.

hither and thither, where'er she listeth, sometimes making directly for another yacht, and again, attempting to smash the fleet at anchor.

One day, when the wind was comparatively steady, as she was about to cross a crack, on the edge of which a man was standing to indicate the only safe place, a sudden puff made her veer and make directly at him.

Boys often take chances with recklessness. One unfortunate boy I knew was being towed on his sled by a rope from an ice-yacht when another yacht came up so fast on another tack that the helmsman did not see him till it was too late, and ran over him, badly crushing the unfortunate boy's legs.

The ferry track at Poughkeepsie is a source of frequent involuntary icewater baths. .. .Late in the season—if the ferry has been frozen up—she takes advantage of each warm day to buck the ice and cut out a channel across the river. Sometimes she gets a third or a half way across, and then a cold night will stiffen up the main ice too hard for the next day's breaking up, and leave a thin coat of glare ice to cover the previous day's work.

This always catches the unwary. Once, however, when there was about sixty feet of open water, a party from Marlborough, going at a rate of a mile a minute, flew directly into this dangerous place. The velocity of their yacht carried them to the farther edge, where a bordering of thin ice prevented rescuers from coming to them. Two of the crew, who could swim, managed to break through this to safety; the third, mostly immersed in the freezing water, clung to the boat, moaning like some wounded beast, utterly helpless from terror. When, after seemingly unconscionable delay, a rope was brought he could barely get the loop over his shoulder to enable his rescuers to drag him through the water to safety. He was never seen on an ice-yacht again.

Jumping cracks is always risky. The owner of the Aeolus, with a friend, once took a memorable trip up to Rondout. The ice was safe and wind strong, so they went ashore and spent some time at lunch. Meanwhile the wind increased, but the sun's rays had caused the ice to expand until some back cracks had opened. On the return trip the yachtsmen, unaware of anything serious, and uttering unsuppressible yells of exhilaration at each startling burst of speed, were suddenly paralyzed to see a long reach of water, about twenty feet across, directly ahead!

Before their course could be altered, splash went the yacht, the runner plank throwing a sheeted mass of water as high as the gaff. The sudden stop, as the rudder caught the farther edge, tossed the man from the runner-plank into a grand somersault, landing him many feet away, whilst the grip of the helmsman was not strong enough to prevent his sliding forward into the water and partly under the box. He was wet from above and below, but neither party suffered any broken bones nor subsequent illness, whilst the wet clothing immediately formed an icy coat.

The Jack Frost had a similar experience whilst sailing in the race at New Hamburg, February 1883. She ran into a large area of water, which had formed where the ice had cracked. She went into it like lightning, dashing up a wall of water as she flew along to clear ice beyond, completely dousing the clothing of the crew; and right off they were covered with icicles from head to foot.

There have been many collisions and many more narrow escapes, wrecking the yachts and bruising the crews. They are generally caused by sudden squalls lifting the windward runner so high that the rudder loses its grip on the ice, and the yacht immediately veers from her course. If another yacht is approaching on another tack and is near by, as is frequently the case, there's a good chance for trouble...

So great a speed is attained by ice yachts that they are sometimes lifted from the ice and fairly fly for yards. An incident of this kind happened last year. A large yacht of the New Hamburg Club went scudding down the river in the direction of Newburg[h]. It was the owner's intention to go to West Point, if possible. He sailed there, but nothing could induce him to make the trip again. Everything went smoothly for a time, so it is related, the wind sending the skeleton craft along at forty miles an hour. Just above Newburg[h] a gale struck the sails and the yacht attained a terrific speed, clouds of ice spray whirling in her wake; she reared and screeched like a mad thing broken loose. The sailor's eyes were pointed ahead, but a film covered them and almost blinded him.

Suddenly he heard a whistle blow right behind him, and as he looked back he saw that he had crossed the Newburg[h] and Fishkill ferry cut, and that he had crossed just in front of the steam boat. His hair stood on end and fairly turned gray. He landed at West Point, transacted his business, took his boat apart and shipped it home, having had enough for that season.

But one more incident, a sample of the gyrations of the Quick as a Wink, well named. One squally day, a bystander on skates, who never had a ride on an ice-yacht, was taken for a whirl. A swift flight of two miles was capped by a fierce puff, that caused the yacht to rear and suddenly snap about so sharp and quick that the two sailors were flung from her with such force that the skates were torn from their feet. Jaws snapped and hair rose, as each, while helplessly skating over the ice, feared the yacht would turn and finish them.

Fortunately she went off to the shore near by. The stranger, on getting to his feet, exclaimed in a painful voice: `Say, Mister, is that the way you stop them?"

FDR's uncle, John A. Roosevelt (1840-1909) was one of the three best known ice yachtsmen on the Hudson and owner of the celebrated boat Icicle, headquartered at Roosevelt's estate of Rosedale in Hyde Park. At 68 feet, 11 inches long and weighing 2,400 pounds with 1,070 square feet of sail, the Icicle was the world's largest ice yacht. Roosevelt's daughter, Ellen was a celebrated sportswoman in her own right as the American women's singles tennis champion. Her cousin, FDR was an avid sailor of his own ice yacht, the Hawk.

John A. Roosevelt: "My daughter has frequently beaten me when I have been sailing the Icicle and she has had a smaller boat, such as Franklin Roosevelt's Hawk, which is not supposed to be so fast. My daughter understands the rules of our club governing the sailing of yachts both in races and for pleasure, and she has learned the science of getting speed out of the boat. It is hard to explain how to sail an ice-boat, and but few men know how to make a yacht give the best speed she is capable of. Indeed, I think I can count on one hand, those who would be considered first class steersmen.

After using up the first speed few know how to make it up and use the same wind over again. This is a thing that is hard to make clear, but when it is understood and mastered it is possible to make a yacht travel much faster than the wind.

Incredible as it may seem, I have seen a yacht travelling three times faster than the wind was blowing.

What more exciting sport can you imagine? I know of nothing that is

attended by so much excitement. Fancy yourself on a boat running over the ice, with one runner perhaps in the air, racing against a railroad train, and then imagine the satisfaction as you perceive your boat gaining on the swiftly moving train, the passengers of which wave you a salute with their handkerchiefs.

Col. Rogers tells a story of an engineer who raced an ice-yacht for the first time. The engineer was running the Empire State Express, when his eyes became fixed on an ice-yacht sailing parallel to the railroad. So interested did he become that he thought that his train had stopped, and believing that something had happened to the engine, took his oil can in hand, got down from his cab, walked around in front of his engine to see what was the matter and was killed.

Unless you accept that incident, I do not remember any loss of life ever having resulted from ice-boating in this section. Perils? They are nothing when there is a good man at the helm. The greatest danger is from collisions, because a boat can easily become unmanageable. For that reason, the expert likes to know who is sailing the other boats when he goes out for a spin, and the novice at steering may be pretty sure of having all the room he wants for his evolutions.

There isn't much danger from breaking through the ice, because the frame of the boat will almost always sustain it if one or both runners go through. I have gone in myself four times in one day and never got my feet wet but once. That was an occasion when the yacht got in the ferry track and then I got wet up to my neck. I have never known of a person being drowned from ice-boating.

It [traveling a mile a minute] is frequently done here on the Hudson and on Lake Minnetonka in Minnesota; they had a race last winter, I believe over a measured course of five and three quarter miles in length in which the time for three races were 4 minutes 20 seconds, 4 minutes 15 seconds and 4 minutes flat." ("As to Ice Yachting," Poughkeepsie Daily Eagle, January 29, 1903)

At his estate, Crumwold, in Hyde Park, veteran ice yachtsman, Archibald Rogers (1852-1928) maintained the largest of the Hudson's ice yacht fleets. His magnificent ice boat, Jack Frost was a keen rival to Roosevelt's Icicle in the coveted "Ice Yacht Challenge Pennant of America" race.

Ice yacht sailing called for the mastery of instantaneous decision making under constantly changing conditions—a particularly appealing combination to wealthy sportsmen like Rogers. Rogers' other hobbies, such as big game hunting and polo, also involved skillful split second decision making in an unpredictable setting.

Archibald Rogers: "...Many persons not acquainted with the sport, and reading exaggerated accounts of accidents in the papers, have supposed that ice-yachting is a highly dangerous one. As a matter of fact, I believe it to be singularly free from danger. There have been comparatively few serious accidents; the men who sail have considerable experience, and the yacht being, as a rule, under such marvelous control there is little liability of injury, unless the helmsman is grossly careless or incompetent.

We have had a few legs broken and a few abraded knees from being thrown out on the ice, but beyond this and occasional duckings in very cold water, nothing serious has occurred. It is worthy of note that bystanders and people skating on the ice are being educated to the point that the safest thing for them to do when they see an ice-yacht approaching is to remain perfectly still, in order to give the helmsman an opportunity to decide what course to steer.

Advice is cheap, as they say, but I can well remember a certain ten minutes in a large ice-yacht during which I had advice of the strongest kind and in the most emphatic language from the late Jacob Buckhout [Buckhout was the celebrated Poughkeepsie boat builder who designed and built boats for many of the sport's most famous participants]. I think that I learned more during those ten minutes [with Buckhout] than I had in years of sailing. Advice, of course, must be of the right kind, and it should come from a professor in the art.

Many men I have known can sail an ice-yacht passably well. Some of them are excellent helmsmen when it comes to a racing or cruising yacht on water, but somehow or other they do not seem to get the knack of sailing an ice-yacht properly...

A hearty laugh has arisen from teasing some novice into taking out a small ice-yacht. We say the wind is not too strong, and that it is from the north, and he is told to get aboard and sail up the river for a mile or so and then turn around and come back. We tell him, with absolute truth, that he will have no difficulty in sailing. We remark casually that per-

Boat building shop of celebrated ice yacht builder Jacob Buckhout (left) with John A. Roosevelt (seated at right). FDR Library and Archives.

haps he won't come back so very fast, but he will get up there all right; and true enough he will. He will have no difficulty at all in going up to windward, and this naturally gives him confidence and he says to himself `This is very easy; anybody can sail an ice-yacht.'

He reaches the place where he should turn around and come back to receive the congratulations of his friends, who are awaiting with much pleasure his return. Up goes his helm and immediately the boat he thought was so easy to sail, starts off at a terrific rate of speed and he begins to lose a little confidence. His first impulse is to stop, especially if he sees himself rapidly approaching the opposite shore. He luffs up into the wind, but as she does not stop, he goes on the other tack. He gets out into the middle of the river, and says, `I will just turn and come back,' so he pays her off again, when the same performance recurs. She immediately develops a high rate of speed; he is running toward the other shore much too much for pleasure... So by this time, having gone far beyond the point at which he desired to turn around, he starts very slowly.... Things don't look quite so easy as they did...One minute he is tearing along 40 miles an hour, and the next minute is not sailing at all, until finally we see him strip off his coat, get down to his shirt sleeves, and with perspiration rolling down his face, ignominiously push his yacht

toward home, where he knows he is sure to meet his jeering and smiling friends.

This is not an exaggerated picture at all. It has happened repeatedly, and that is why, although almost anyone can sail to windward, sailing before the wind requires a special education...

The Hudson in a freezing mood is capricious, and often in early winter will present us with four or five miles of beautiful ice, perfectly smooth and even, and then, owing to the drifting down of some broken up ice fields which have become jammed and frozen fast, we may be cut off for a mile or more by execrable ice, the surface of which is a mass of jagged hummocks, some of them several feet in height and running either in ridges from shore to shore or scattered about in great uneven masses, or both. Interspersed amidst all these Arctic conditions will be found patches and lanes of more or less smooth ice.

Now no ice-yachtsman worthy of the name ever hesitates at trouble or work if sailing is to be had anywhere near him. He sees with envy his friends above or below him having the time of their lives (and a good day's ice-yachting is always the time of one's life). So up go the sails on "old trusty" and a try is made to sail over the intervening rough ice. It takes sometimes a lot of time, skill and patience with a frequent use of a sharp steel chisel bar to cut a passage through some of the ridges. If these are too wide and too rough the boat is shoved by hand, or if the ice is strong enough very often a pair of horses and a tow rope are requisitioned until all obstacles are surmounted.

If cracks have to be passed (cracks come from the rise and fall of the tide, or from the expansion of the ice) two timbers must be laid in position spanning the opening, and then the boat shoved over.. .But where the ice is smooth and not rotten, quite a wide distance may be crossed under the yacht's own momentum and without the timbers being placed in position, provided enough speed can be attained just before reaching the crack. ...The clearing of a distance of 21 feet, 6 inches by an ice-yacht is the widest I know of. This I did in Jack Frost. The measurement was taken with a steel tape from the point where the runners left the ice to where they first landed. (Outing Magazine, March 1907)

Although more familiar with the Hudson than the national reporters sent to cover ice yacht races, local reporters felt just as keenly the icy

drama of speed and skill occurring in their own backyard. George W. Davids, Jr., Managing Editor of the Poughkeepsie Daily Eagle recorded his part in one of the famous races between ice yachts and riverside trains.

George W. Davids, Jr.: "I recall an incident when the Empire State Express was first put on the route between New York and Chicago and newspapers printed wonderful stories of its speed. On that day, me and Archibald Rogers sat in the cockpit of his famous Jack Frost and the wind was howling from the west. Our conversation drifted to the stories about the Empire State Express and Colonel Rogers suggested that the Empire might be fast but could not cope with an ice yacht. I suggested it might be tried out some time and the Colonel was quick to take up the idea, with the result that we started from Hyde Park for Poughkeepsie in the Jack Frost to await the arrival of the Empire on its way to Albany.

When the train was sighted, Colonel Rogers rounded the Jack Frost once or twice until he got on an even terms with the Empire. This was just north of the present Dutton Company wharf and the train and ice yacht were soon moving up the river. Passengers on the train looked out of the windows and waved handkerchiefs as if to say good-bye as the train drew away. But we hadn't yet got into the wind. Presently when the Colonel got the Frost properly headed and the west wind veered slightly to southward, the Jack Frost fairly hummed over the clear ice and we were on even terms with the train. Under perfect conditions, the ice yacht gradually drew away from the Empire and at Esopus Island where we stopped, we were a good quarter of a mile ahead of the train. When the passengers saw us they gave us another wave of handkerchiefs and even the engineer gave us three friendly toots of the whistle." (Poughkeepsie Daily Eagle: September 22, 1928)

Under the pen name "Carl Keepsie," a local journalist describes his ride on John A. Roosevelt's ice yacht Vixen in 1892:

"Nearly six inches of solid ice on the Hudson River greeted the eyes and gladdened the hearts of yachtsmen hereabouts yesterday. It was the first day of this season that gave the lovers of ice boating the sort of encouragement that awakens enthusiasm and leads up to racing over the frozen river. Of all the health giving, exciting winter sports, ice yachting is the most delightful. I speak advisedly, for I went ice yachting no later than yesterday, and among the legacies to be handed down to my yet unborn

admirers is the fact that I had one of the first ice yacht rides of 1892, after all the prophets had settled down for an open river all winter.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when I turned in from the North Road through the open gate of John A. Roosevelt's place. I followed a picturesque road over which tall cedars touched their green boughs very lovingly, considering that it was a zero day, down to the river side. From the shore, about two miles north of Poughkeepsie, the scene was enchanting. The bleakness and complete cheerlessness that one would expect to find at a point of the river so far from the city were not there. Why? Simply because the ice yachts were out. Vixen, Ariel, Flash, and Quick as a Wink were there, John A. Roosevelt, Archibald Rogers — Norman Wright and C.H. Gallup, respectively, being in charge of the ice yachts. It was the first day of ice yachting this season...

The river is covered with a splendid field of ice directly in front of Mr. Roosevelt's place. Yesterday the ice had an enameled surface, not so fast as smooth ice, they say, but infinitely more comforting to the amateur yachtsman who is in doubt about the sharpness of the runners. Somehow the amateur always allows such irrelevant things to interfere with his sport. The wind was from the northwest when it was at all. It was not a steady wind. It came in chunks. Some of the chunks were large, others larger. I was on the Vixen, through the kindness of Mr. Roosevelt, when one of the largest chunks came bounding along the river. The Vixen, always steady and reliable, lost her temper when this particular blast took such liberties with her sail; at least I so fancied, she made such a fuss. I was sure that she did not care for the company of the blast. This I concluded from the manner in which she hurried on, as if to get away from it entirely. She finally did get away. Then she came to a slow, rational movement.

`The wind has left us,' said the man at the tiller.

I thought it was the other way, but said nothing.

The blast and the sail met again, presently, and what a time they did have. I thought I must lose my life before the thing was over. I found when it was over that I had lost several things, among others the grip, a small case of dyspepsia, a headache, and a notion that I knew a whole lot about handling an ice boat. If you have such things among your possessions and want to keep them forever, don't go ice yachting.

When my trip on the Vixen ended, Mr. Roosevelt said to me, `That young man who handled the Vixen I consider the most competent on the ice. He is cool and exercises good judgment. He always wins. He is a nice young man, too. His name is William Smith.' I was glad to hear Mr. Roosevelt speak thus of an employee. There are men in the world who never do such things..." ("Carl on an Ice Boat: The First Day of Ice Yachting Hereabouts," Poughkeepsie News-Telegraph, January 23, 1892)

"Thomas Scott, Robert Gibson and Willie Smith—Ye Sturdy Crew" (The ice yacht crew of John A. Roosevelt, March 1888). FDR Library and Archives.

A reporter in January of 1899 describes his "glorious" ride on an ice yacht for the Poughkeepsie News-Telegraph:

"Did you ever ride on an ice yacht? Ever know the thrilling experience of riding over a mile wide field of ice, a good stiff breeze from the north filling a great white sail above your head, and with only a plank between your prostrate arm and the black, smooth surface, while you held on for life, and for pleasure? Did you ever get rightly acquainted with the clear, cold air which ice yachtsmen come to love as topers love sparkling wine? It is found between the hills and along the ice covered river on a biting winter day. It gets into your lungs and causes your blood to tingle and

your cheeks to glow, it frees the system from entanglements, and clears the brain in its own thorough way. Such air, and so much of it, your lungs will never know and your blood will never respond to in leaps and floods, unless you lie flat on an ice yacht on a cold winter day, seize hold of the planks with both hands, snuggle down your head, make an act of explicit faith in the yachtsman at the tiller, forget danger, troubles and responsibilities and, in the language of the boy, `Let'er go.'

I took a ride on Lewis D. Buckhout's ice yacht Tuesday. There were four others on the yacht when it shot away from Main Street like an object caught up by a gust of wind and whisked along an open channel. The first sweep of the piercing cold made the moment one of anxiety. The sail was filled to a proud size, and the little runners cut along eagerly. The wind was from the north and the course of the ice yacht was south. The sail was a straight one and as may be imagined a swift one. Mr. Buckout was at the tiller. He wore big mittens, but no covering on his ears. Why his ears didn't freeze and drop off was a mystery which, in the speed, and general whizzing of the moment, I had no time to study. My own ears were closed to the world, with all its works and sounds save only the sound of the keen cutting of the ice, and the creaking of the little mast.

The scenery of the noble Hudson was transformed. The browned and snow touched hills on either side seemed to come together just ahead of him, and the river banks seemed streaks of snow, with dark spots here and there. The other occupants of the ice yacht were silent, `scared stiff,' as one of them afterwards said. Their heads were buried in fur, and their bodies wrapped in cumbersome overcoats—but nobody complained of being warm. But who shall describe the feeling—the new health, the fascinating joy of a sail ahead of the wind on an ice yacht? ...The trip was to New Hamburg, a distance of four miles, and it was made in seven minutes.

The river was not given exclusively to ice yachting, for hundreds, despite the low temperature, were on skates and holding huge skate sails, became human ice boats. Some took trains up the river as far as Rhinecliff and then with a blowing breeze at their backs almost bade defiance to steam power."