FOR the last six summers I have been operating a taxi along New York’s waterways. It is not the yellow ferry that commuters ride around Lower Manhattan , but a small rowboat that I made from plywood. Instead of a diesel engine, I use the tidal currents in the harbor to propel my craft.

On each trip I take one or two passengers, often strangers who have found me online and requested a ride. We visit places around New York that most people have never heard of: Swinburne Island or the ship graveyard in Coney Island Creek. Some are wild and overgrown, places where herons nest along deserted creeks. Others are industrial wastelands, canals where the oil sludge and debris are so thick that my little boat has trouble maneuvering. Most of them are within a few miles of Times Square.

But no matter how close we are to the city, it is a different world out in the boat. Bridges soar out of the rivers. Skyscrapers seem to hover above us, and their reflections make them appear twice as tall. The streets and cars disappear, though we can still hear their muffled sounds drift across the water.

Abandoned ships, forbidden islands, derelict creeks — this is a part of New York that few people see.