Mike Freeman (5) (1968–)

Freeman’s account of his two-week canoe trip from the headwaters of the Hudson high in the Adirondack Mountains to the sludgy, sulfur-scented, concrete-lined shores where it pours into the New York Bay is aptly-named: Drifting: Two Weeks on the Hudson. As river-trip stories go his is idiosyncratic and eccentric, lacking either the focus of the explorer or the drive of the conqueror. “I didn’t plan the trip,” Freeman announces at the start of his journey, “at least, not show more thoroughly.” Instead, he seems to have determined on his trip down the Hudson for several reasons, the most prevalent of which was that he had spent the last five months as a stay-at-home-dad to his newborn daughter, and was finding the transition from assistant for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game (sighting down, if not shooting, bears in his rifle) to house-husband in a New York suburb a bit drastic. He was unemployed. He was at loose ends—or as loose as a parent with a newborn can be. His girlfriend-not-wife had a good job. He had . . . restlessness. read full review show less

There were parts of the book I enjoyed, this history of the areas he paddled through and the detailed descriptions of the areas, but I had to wade past a large number of metaphysical tales to get there about the Author's theory on life, that I could have done without.

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