But aerial navigation in the fall of 1909 was not such a sure and certain thing as all that. Much depended upon the wind and weather, and it was soon demonstrated that the best that could be hoped for at the time of the celebration would be flights made at such times as the wind would permit. Day after day the public waited anxiously for flights to be made up the Hudson from Governor's Island, but day after day the wind blew up or down the Hudson in such blasts that it was not deemed safe to attempt a trip. For it must be remembered that there is scarcely a more difficult course anywhere in the country than over the Hudson river in the vicinity of New York. On both sides of the river, which is a swift-running stream, rise lofty hills, and at some places precipitous cliffs called the Palisades. On the New York side are miles upon miles of lofty apartment houses along Riverside Drive. If the wind blows across the river, either from the east or west, dangerous currents and eddies suck down through the canon-like streets, or over the steep Palisades, making flying extremely hazardous. For this reason there has never, even up to this time (August, 1912), been any flying to speak of over the Hudson, and for these reasons, the great river will not become a popular flying course for aeroplanes until they are so constructed as to be able to defy the treacherous, puffy wind currents. The hydroaeroplane, however, may navigate the course with safety, as it is perfectly safe in one of these machines to fly within a few feet of the water where there is the least danger from contrary air currents. So much was printed in the New York newspapers while we were waiting for propitious weather that the public was keyed up to expect great things from the aeroplanes–far greater than the aeroplane could accomplish. Bulletins were posted by the newspapers from day to day, informing the public that flights would surely be made "to-day" provided the wind abated. In the meantime interest was doubly stimulated by the announcement of a ten-thousand-dollar prize for the first air-flight over Fulton's course, from New York to Albany, or from Albany to New York. One of the paintings made at the time as an "advance notice," I remember, showed so many aerial dreadnaughts in the sky, passing down the river by the Palisades at the same time, that one was forced to wonder how all of them were going to find room to navigate. However, the atmosphere had cleared long before the actual flight was made down the Hudson, the following summer.