In the 1990s, Fred Schaeffer was one of the visionaries behind the grassroots campaign to transform the old Poughkeepsie-Highland Railroad Bridge into what is today Walkway Over the Hudson. On January 28, 1993, after his first perilous walk across the span, Fred published the account below in the Pleasant Valley Voice. He notes his anguish over not bringing a camera – a fact that would rarely be true again, as no one has snapped more photos on and around the Walkway than Fred. The accompanying photo here is from a subsequent trip not long after his first.

It’s incredible to think that this journey today is made by more than 600,000 people each year, and is considered among the most accessible hikes in the world.

Over the ensuing 15 years, Fred would be instrumental in securing more than $40 million of public and private funding to turn the dream of the Walkway into a reality. And once the gates opened in 2009 he was the park’s first Ambassador, greeting visitors, telling the Walkway story, and giving a human face to the bridge. Today, the Fred Schaeffer Ambassador Legacy Fund is named in his honor.

My mother is not going to like my column this week. It tells about an adventure I had earlier today, and she doesn’t like heights. There were moments this afternoon when I thought I had gone too high, and too far.

I wasn’t terrified, the danger was more apparent than real, but I did wonder if I would be able to return without the aid of a police helicopter.

It started innocently enough. I was in my office working, not unusual for a Sunday afternoon. I was doing a letter to an insurance agent asking for a quote for insurance for the Poughkeepsie-Highland Bridge Company. This is the organization working to purchase the railroad bridge which spans the Hudson River so that it can be turned into a bikeway and walkway. As I have mentioned before, I am in favor of this project so I am helping out with it.

I needed to know the length of the railroad span, so I called Bill Sepe, who is spearheading the drive. After telling me the bridge is 6,676 feet long, 3,600 of which are over the water, and the balance over the adjacent shorelines, he casually mentioned he was looking for someone to go out on the bridge with him so he could check the navigational lights. The Coast Guard has been complaining because the lights have been out for years, and Bill wants to know if the reason is just burnt out bulbs or some other problem. Sounded simple enough, so I said I would go with him.

Ten minutes later he was picking me up outside.

If you remember Sunday’s weather was quite mild. Walking out on the bridge was something I had thought about for many years but never had the opportunity or know how to do. We drove over to Highland. As I mentioned before, the bridge starts about 1,000 feet from the River, quickly leaving a hillside, crossing Haviland Rd, heading towards the river, held up by a maze of steel superstructure.

What I didn’t realize was that the bridge deck is not solid. It consists of large railroad ties, roughly 8″ x 16″, and about 20 feet long, laid crosswise over two steel beams. The ties have a gap between them of between six to ten inches, thus when you look down you are looking into a void. At first you are over land, and the drop is maybe 100 feet or so, but by the time you get to the edge of the water you are 212 feet over the shore and then over the Hudson River.

After the first few steps I was panic stricken; Bill was very nonchalant about the whole thing. He suggested we walk in the center of the 30 foot wide bridge, between the rails, so that if we fell we could straddle the rails and not fall through the ties. There is a metal grate close to the edge of the bridge, and a rusty railing, but he was afraid to walk close to the edge, for fear the railing would give way if we fell against it. “Thanks for the tip, Bill,” I thought to myself. “Now he tells me.”

I took each step from tie to tie with caution. I pride myself on my agility and steadiness and there was no reason I couldn’t walk eleven hundred feet to the first navigation light without tripping, but when the consequences are so drastic, each step caused my heart to skip a beat. I could feel my hands sweating. At times the distance between ties seemed to widen; I tried not to notice the 200 foot drop between the ties, but you had to look down to step from tie to tie and it was hard to avoid seeing the open space.

I knew it was a psychological battle; I kept on telling myself it was impossible not to be able to straddle the rails and ties if I tripped; but could I get up again; and would I “freeze” once we were out over the Hudson. I had visions of lying on the rails waiting for a police helicopter to plunk me off the bridge. Bill would stop to point something out to me now and then; I didn’t really want to stop, but I tried to pay attention to what he said, while concentrating on keeping my balance, my feet on different ties. The view was breathtaking as we approached the river, but the 30 foot width of the span, seemed so fragile.

A stiff breeze started to blow, causing me a little more anxiety. When the bridge is completed for a bike and walkway it will have a solid deck, solid side rails and be pleasant to walk or bike across, but for now the rusty railings at the end of the ties left a lot to be desired. As we got further out the ties seemed to be closer together, and a metal plate straddled two ties every twenty feet or so, so I could stand easier and relax.

When we reached the area of the first navigation light, I realized it was not up on the bridge but in the superstructure below. Back at Bill’s car I had wondered why he had brought along a rope, now I knew.

While Bill was surveying the ladder going down to the light, I enjoyed the marvelous view. South, the Mid-Hudson Bridge looked small – the roadway to it was fifty feet lower than our 212 feet height above the river; we seemed to be at eye level with the top of the towers, but I believe they are higher. To the north I glanced quickly at the beautiful river, and envisioned how nice it will be for people to enjoy this view under more stable conditions. I anguished over not having brought my camera, because this meant I would have to come back again another day.

I was relieved when Bill decided against climbing over the side. I added that it would be better with more than one of us remaining up top in case of an emergency, and besides, clouds were moving in and I feared rain. The last thing I wanted to do was walk back over wet ties. I tried to take in the majesty of it all, but I was a little too nervous to really enjoy it completely. To my surprise though, the walk back was easier than going out.