“Cliff Notes” is the visitors’ letter for the Palisades Interstate Park in New Jersey. Published occasionally since 1998, each issue has featured a story about the human or natural history of the Palisades. Click the button above for more articles!

Aeroplanes on the Hudson

by Francesca Costa | August 2025

Geologists say that the topography of an area has the power to shape human activity. Look no further than the Hudson River for this idea to be proven in concept: for as long as humans have been here, they have always used the river as a conduit.

We could spend countless hours dissecting how the Lenape and other Indigenous groups navigated the river in canoes, or how beaver skins flowed downriver on merchant vessels to fund entire economies in Europe, or even how much emphasis was placed on the Hudson during the Revolution as a strategic asset to each side. In later time periods, the Hudson became a place for river excursions and swimming beaches where millions enjoyed her banks. Though railroads and highways eventually replaced boat travel, these new routes always had to contend with the Hudson’s geography. Many routes even travel right alongside the river to this day, like US Route 9W and Metro-North Railroad Line.

Wilbur and Orville Wright invented the first successful flying machine in 1903, and believe it or not, this aircraft was still impacted by the land that they had left behind.

The Palisades Interstate Park had deep connections to these original aeroplanes or sky boats. During our 1909 grand opening as a public park, we coincided with the Hudson Fulton Celebration, which marked 300 years since the Half Moon sailed upriver. Wilbur Wright flew his creation to the delight of thousands of cheering New Yorkers. For early aeronauts, it was easy to fly around the Statue of Liberty, though the Palisades proved a massive challenge to navigate.

Glenn Curtiss, a founder of American aviation, was already well-acquainted with risks of flying along the Palisades:

Curtiss on his voyage to Manhattan, 1910 | Courtesy of the Glenn H. Curtiss Museum

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 Curtiss Aviation Book, Frederick A. Stokes Company, New York, New York, 1912.

Curtis made this prediction in part because he had lifted off in 1910 from Albany and his goal was to make it 150 miles along the Hudson to Manhattan. Eager onlookers witnessed his journey downriver, and if you were in attendance you could see his aircraft pass by at a dizzying speed of 54 mph! From Fort Lee Historic Park, you would see him crashland in Inwood before making repairs and continuing on his way. Clearly, this was a difficult feat for the most skilled aeronauts and their aeroplanes to accomplish.

What Curtiss found so dangerous about the Palisades is exactly what makes it attractive for birds of all kinds: the rocks warmed by the sun create updrafts that can keep a bird soaring without even a flap of its wing. If navigated correctly, a gliding vessel can use these to their advantage, but most aeronauts found the sudden and unpredictable gusts of air from the river to be a massive gamble. Their technology just couldn’t withstand it yet.

Another aviation star and his wife were able to get a much closer view of the Palisades on their own “perilous flight.” In 1913, Frank Herbert Burnside set the world record for highest altitude when he reached 12,950 feet above sea level. He, like his colleague Curtiss, was a pioneer known for creating the first systems to deliver airmail. The next year, he and his wife Alice were cruising on the Hudson from Seagate to Dobbs Ferry when their motor broke 3,000 feet up near present-day State Line Lookout. According to Watertown Daily Times:

Burnside managed to volplane to the river below and just escaped hitting the walls of the Palisades… While high above the Hudson near Dobbs Ferry, they were struck suddenly by a southwest squall and the flying boat was almost capsized. In righting it there was a severe wrenching and the motor broke and stopped ‘dead.’... For a moment or two both Mr Burnside and his wife believed they would be killed by striking the edge of the Palisades opposite Hastings. But, by skillfully manoeuvering the planes and the rudder, Mr Burnside was able to so direct the craft that she shot over the edge of the cliff and then pointed down toward the river. So narrow was the margin of safety that the lower parts of the flying boat passed through the tops of small trees and tore off twigs and branches.

Watertown Daily Times, July 8th, 1914

Frank Herbert Burnside (1888-1935) in 1916 | Library of Congress

Alice Burnside explained in the same article, “The thing that frightened us most was that we were heading so near the edge of the Palisades. When we had passed that it seemed that we had been born again.” This would not be the last crash which the Burnsides were involved in, though Frank managed to retire from the field by 1931.

Across the Atlantic, a young man named Anthony Fokker was making waves in Holland. This pioneer designed the aeroplanes used by German Forces during the First World War, a design made famous by the Red Baron. In 1926, his trimotor monoplane managed to soar above the North Pole. Later, his design would carry Amelia Earhart across the contiguous states, from California to Hawaii, and on her other record-setting missions. Moving to America, Fokker settled along the Palisades and tried to build a summer castle just south of our Park Headquarters in Alpine, NJ. During this time, he also moved into a mansion in Nyack, NY, where he could, “have [his] yachts and flying boats.”

Stewart Vogt, a neighborhood child, remembered when Anthony Fokker would land his Sea Plane at Alpine Boat Basin, travel up Henry Hudson Drive, and visit the construction site. Though little Stewart was never allowed to go up with him, Fokker often promised to show him the skies. Fokker’s life was riddled with personal tragedy and his whimsical castle never came to fruition. After the suicide of his wife, Fokker moved to California and died in 1939 . The noise of his sea planes would be missed by all locals who would scramble outside to watch “The Flying Dutchman” in action.

Anthony Fokker, 1914 | Photo: Fokker Heritage Trust, Huins, The Netherlands

Charles Lindbergh, 1927 | Library of Congress

Time marched along, and another colleague of Burnside and Curtiss was getting his own time in the limelight. Charles Lindbergh lifted off from Roosevelt Field in the early hours of May 20th, 1927. The aircraft had been serviced at nearby Curtiss Field, but was struggling with over 400 gallons of fuel on board. Just clearing the nearby powerlines, The Spirit of Saint Louis made liftoff. Lindbergh, who was ten years younger than Burnside and Curtiss, was able to make the arduous journey across the Atlantic Ocean, landing safely in Paris. This journey of 3610 miles would have not been possible for his earlier counterparts, but goes to show how quickly technology was advancing in the field.

This aeronaut, or pilot as they were now known, has a file in the Palisades Interstate Park’s Public History Department Archives. The Linburgh Baby Kidnapping was a sensational story in 1932, and still remains famous within the true crime community. During the manhunt for his missing son, our police force was involved in an early tip. Unfortunately, the Park Police could not assist in recovering the child and the lead became another dead end in the case.

The Closter/Norwood Airplane Field ca. 1939 | Image Courtesy of the Closter Historical Preservation Commission

Though many big names in aviation have had their hand in our Park’s history, there are other pilots who we cannot leave out. Today’s airfields are incredibly regulated and sparse, but in the late 1930’s, there used to be one within a mile of our Headquarters. The Closter/Norwood Airplane Field was used for local recreation and entertainment, hosting parachute shows and even taking passengers on board the small planes. Johnny Hubschmidt, Albert and Aldo Zampolino, and Rocky Gallo were all local pilots who were able to live out Curtiss’ wildest dream of withstanding the buffering winds on the Palisades. Many aerial photographs of the Alpine area from this time are essential research materials we use today to better our understanding of cliffside mansions on Park land.

During the Second World War, the Zampolino brothers assisted the RAF in top-secret missions over Northern Africa. Even as America entered the Atomic Age, this Airplane Field was maintained by the Buzzoni Family’s team of horses.

You may assume modern airplanes are not at risk of being impacted by the Palisades, and you would be correct! The days of strong winds and flying by the seat of one’s pants are over. But that does not mean current flight patterns ignore geography. The Hudson is still a massive travel lane for small aircraft, helicopters, military ospreys, and even jets. Our area is so populous, it makes sense to keep over the water for a smooth and safe landing should the need arise.

In 2009, you would have seen US Airways Flight 1549 as it descended rapidly past Fort Lee Historic Park. The jumbo jet cleared the George Washington bridge by 900 feet and would land in the river with no casualties. This event would become known as the Miracle on the Hudson. Four hundred years after Henry Hudson’s voyage, and almost a century after Burnside’s crash landing, Captain Sully saw the value of traveling on the river.