I have been covering a kayak murder case out of Poughkeepsie, N.Y., for a couple of weeks and in the usual manner: I made phone calls, searched the Internet, knocked on doors.
But on Monday, at the suggestion of my editor, I took a kayak out with a professional guide to retrace the paddle strokes, so to speak, of Angelika Graswald and her fiancé, Vincent Viafore, who is still missing and presumed dead. Ms. Graswald, 35, was charged with second-degree murder, and prosecutors say she tampered with Mr. Viafore’s kayak. She maintains that what happened on the river that day was an accident.
I’ve kayaked just a handful of times, but the trip provided insight into the dangers the couple faced, and some of their mistakes, in a way that mere phone reporting could not.
When the couple went out on April 19, the water was 46 degrees, brutally cold and capable of causing hypothermia in minutes. The weather was close to ideal the day I ventured out from the western shore of the Hudson, in Orange County, and the water temperature had risen to 60 degrees. I was amazed to feel how cold 60 degrees is. As we drifted in front of Bannerman Castle, on a small island where the couple briefly disembarked, I left my hands in the water for as long as possible. It wasn’t long. After two minutes, they were going numb. And the water — and wind — went from fairly calm to strong and intensely challenging in seconds.
Kayaking experts pointed out the couple’s many boating mistakes. Mr. Viafore had no life jacket, and his vessel was missing its drain plug. The couple had the wrong type of kayaks for the Hudson, they lacked the correct outerwear, such as dry suits, and they stayed out too late for the time of year. Ms. Graswald called 911 at 7:15 p.m.
The story of Vincent Viafore’s tragic kayak trip is disturbing on every level. The chance to delve more deeply into the events of April 19 added a layer of understanding that, I hope, came through in my article about their rookie errors.
As a reporter covering the environment (as well as parks and recreation), I’ve had the good fortune to experience a few things close up. I’ve hiked a stretch of newly open wilderness in the Adirondacks before the public had access. I’ve bushwhacked through forests with scientists in search of moose scat. More recently, clad in surgical mask and gown, I observed an abdominal surgery on a gorilla at the Bronx Zoo.
I never wanted a desk job. This beat, more than any other in my 30 years at The Times, has kept me happily in the field.