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"  My neighbor Colm has a little boat with a large, muscle-car motor in it. When he cranks the ignition, it sounds like elephants grunting; when the engine hits warp speed, the roar can be heard for miles around. Being whipped around the Hudson River Valley in Colm&amp;#039;s speedboat is an uncouth, albeit glorious, experience. And yet, truth be told, I feel more like a rebel when I&amp;#039;m alone, paddling my 16-foot-long canoe. Though my boat matches Colm&amp;#039;s in length, I require no assistance to get it into the water, no permits from any government entity, and, most important, I can come and go without disturbing a soul.  My favorite summer-morning activity involves canoeing along the riverbank in about a foot of water, watching minnows, snakes, and bald eagles scatter as soon as I float into their comfort zone. Much of the Hudson River&amp;#039;s lower half \u2014 which runs from Albany, New York, to Manhattan \u2014 remains placid and lakelike, with just a mile-per-hour tide, back and forth twice a day, to remind you of the Atlantic Ocean, which lies 140 miles to the south of my town. I can&amp;#039;t remember the first time I pushed off in a canoe, but even today, years later, I&amp;#039;m always amazed that this whole flotation thing works. While adjusting my posture and stance in the boat, I&amp;#039;m briefly reminded that my canoe is little more than a leaf drifting on the surface of the water. But once I lean into the paddle, the feeling of power kicks in. For those of us who mostly type and stare at a computer for a living, it&amp;#039;s a pleasant thrill to overcome the wind and tide&amp;#039;s intentions with something as simple as a paddle. Don&amp;#039;t get me wrong. Canoeing doesn&amp;#039;t have to be a solitary endeavor. I enjoy heading out with buddies, too. In fact, one of the best things about a canoe is that you can pile on a surprising amount of stuff. In what other arena can the strength of your arms alone propel three people, a dog, and a cooler full of Miller Lite? Even my 94-year-old grandmother has come along for the ride. On a recent visit, my sister and I paddled Gran to the rugged side of the river and skimmed alongside the rock ledges to show her the orange-red columbine that grows wild there in late spring.  While many of my canoe journeys have the feeling of wildlife expeditions, others are taken solely for transport&amp;#039;s sake, to move from point A to point B. I&amp;#039;m grateful that the tight arrangement of villages along this part of the Hudson (about 30 miles south of Albany) affords me the opportunity to leave my car behind: If I want to drop in on friends in Athens, a few miles to the south of where I live, it&amp;#039;s possible to leave an hour ahead, paddle downriver, and pull my canoe out of the water at the downtown boat launch in time for the party. Before I leave, I consult the tide charts at tides.info and hope that the water will be flowing in the direction I need to travel. If I won&amp;#039;t be going with the flow, so to speak, I adjust my schedule to suit the river&amp;#039;s tide. I&amp;#039;ve even been known to ferry weekend guests to the Victorian train station, in nearby Hudson, that sits a mere stone&amp;#039;s throw from the town boat launch. The most sublime moment I have ever experienced took place while canoeing in the middle of Lake Maumelle on a moonless night in Arkansas. The stars and the Milky Way sparkled vividly, and the water was still as glass. I sat in the front of the canoe with a friend in the stern; from my vantage point, it felt as though we were paddling through an eternity of stars \u2014 above and below, reflected in the mirrorlike surface of the lake. It occurred to me that my perspective was not much different from what I might experience if I were to paddle a canoe through outer space (if only that were possible).  Canoeing isn&amp;#039;t for everyone, especially in this era of nonstop communication, where e-mailing, texting, and instant messaging are the norm. It&amp;#039;s a quiet pursuit that connects us with a North American tradition reaching back thousands of years. Unlike most modern activities, it tends to minimize one&amp;#039;s footprint, allowing a person to vanish \u2014 at least for a little while. Matt Lee divides his time between upstate New York and Charleston, South Carolina. Along with his brother, Ted, he authored The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook (Norton), named Cookbook of the Year in 2007 by the James Beard Foundation. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.countryliving.com/life/travel/a2814/matt-lee-canoeing-0609/>