New York to Florida via train

As though being baptized into the true start of my journey onto points unknown, we dive deep under the riverbed of the Hudson for 2.5 miles, to emerge into New Jersey and commence 26 hours of heading south on a single train. Here the landscape is less alluring, although we still often follow waterways. The sun sinks slowly on the horizon and my attention drawn into a long-awaited book.

In Washington D.C. We change engines; here the lines switch from electric to diesel.

The accommodations are relatively spacious and much more comfortable than traveling by plane. I can stretch my legs out fully in front of me, and the seats have foot & leg rests to make sleeping while reclined more comfortable. Unfortunately even when they finally dim the cabin lights around 10:30 pm, they are still overly bright and the cabin a bit too warm. Despite these discomforts I sleep decently. Unfortunately the train doesn't quite have the soporific effect that ferries have for me.



I awake a bit before sunrise, and am greeted by a giant glowing orange orb rising just above swampland. The reflection in the standing water surrounded by trees is stunning. Overnight I passed into southern pine ecosystems, which I have read about but never really experienced. They feel simultaneously disconcerting and perfectly right in this warm, humid environment. I associate pines with cold, harsh, dry conditions at altitude, not this warm, moist, lush place.





The journey across Florida takes most of the day, and the vegetation shifts from out of southern pine land and into more tropical vegetation. Water becomes even more prevalent and birds proliferate over the marshes and swamps. I have completed my transition from snow and ice covered temperate forests into sub-tropical warmth.

Traveling the Hudson by Train

I am transfixed by the landscape rushing past the windows of the train. To my west is the Hudson river at eye level, to the east are edges of towns and phragmities filled wetlands. Conversation floats about me in the car; I only break my enraptured state to occasionally snap a photograph.



The Hudson river is a magical being. An estuary, it pulses with the tides, which influence the river as far north as Troy, 150 miles from its mouth. Where I grew up it is nearly a mile wide; at its widest it is an expansive three and one half miles. I don't remember the exact location of this widest point, but experience the widening of the river as we head south. Ice floes fill the river when I being my journey, but becomes sparser as I travel southwards.



Giant icicles and frozen waterfalls grace the steep rock walls of the ancient mountains that the train tracks are cut into. Now laughable by most standards, these eroded hills once towered higher than the Colorado Rockies. Humans and the train are just one small erosive force on this ancient rock.

At one point two white-tailed deer race along the road next to the train; running from this metal giant that echoes its presence loudly.

As we draw closer to the city I feel the closing in of the giant metropolis of New York. We slowly cross an arm of the river and head underground; even this giant vehicle is dwarfed and sent to ground by the density of humanity here.