All I could hear was the gentle splash of paddles and oars dipping in and out of the water. The river itself was quiet, with only the occasional gurgle when it trickled over rocks or lapped at my kayak. Waterfowl glided near us, a water snake slithered by. Bald eagles — so many! — soared and swooped in the trees.

It was hard to believe this was the Delaware River, just a couple of hours from my home in Brooklyn.

Even though I live relatively close to it, I did not know much about the Delaware besides George Washington famously crossing it in 1776.

The annual weeklong paddling expedition covers about 80 miles of the river’s main stem, with a different section done each year. Participants can do as many days as they want (I did three, from the put-in at Lackawaxen, Pa., to Worthington State Forest, N.J.) The 2025 trip, which marks the event’s 30th anniversary, starts on June 14 at Balls Eddy, Pa., and ends in Phillipsburg, N.J. on the 20th. (Registration has opened.)

The Sojourn can swell to more than a hundred paddlers a day, from experienced kayakers to first timers. About 16 members of the National Canoe Safety Patrol (volunteers trained in first-aid and swift water rescue) make sure that everybody follows protocols and steer paddlers through the occasional Class I or II rapid.

Facing the Camping Challenge

I paddled alongside a young boy in a tandem kayak with his mother, and groups of rambunctious teenagers lobbing a foam football at each other. I chatted with Sojourn steering-committee member Lois Burmeister, 76, and her 12-year-old grandson, and with Ed McLaughlin, a gregarious 76-year-old retired school administrator, who became hooked on multiday trips after doing the Schuylkill River Sojourn.

“On the third day I thought I was going to die,” said Mr. McLaughlin, who got serious about kayaking in retirement. “But there’s something about being on the water and paddling, I just can’t explain it.”

The joy of being in the friendliest of armadas certainly was infectious. “A lot of people don’t have anybody to paddle with so this is an opportunity for them to do it — and to do it safely,” said Jacqui Wagner, who oversees safety on the water for the Sojourn. “And it’s a good place to learn.”

I had paddled before and was looking forward to traveling 10 to 13 miles a day on the Delaware. What freaked me out was the camping: While the Sojourn’s website lists accommodations within 30 minutes of the launches, the community formed by camping is a big part of the trip. And I had never done it.

So as not to embarrass myself on my first night, I practiced putting up my brand-new $60 Coleman tent in my small living room, then folding it back into its bag. When I got to the first site, on the grounds of the Zane Grey Museum in Lackawaxen, Penn., I was ready.

The Sojourn includes two to three meals a day, served cafeteria-style at communal tables. Perhaps because it is run by a nonprofit, the fee is a fairly affordable $100 a day, and includes your camping spot, transportation between the campsites and the launches, and boat rental along with paddle and personal flotation device.

“We could do this on our own,” said Victoria Hennessy, 59, a first-timer on the Sojourn. “But then we’d have to do all the food. Besides registration and gas, I haven’t spent one penny.”

To avoid packing and unpacking every night, participants stay a few days at each site — the 2025 edition will split its time between two Pennsylvania campgrounds, in Equinunk and Mount Bethel. The organization also has a longstanding relationship with Northeast Wilderness Experience, which handles the boat rental, while Sojourners are ferried to the river and back to camp in buses.

But in the end, it all revolves around the free-flowing Delaware, the longest undammed river east of the Mississippi, which runs through a corridor bordered by New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware. When we were not on it, we talked about it, with lunchtime and sometimes dinner talks linked to history of the river and its surrounding communities.

Joint efforts have helped clean up the Delaware over the decades. The dead fish I spotted floating belly up, for example, were actually a good sign: They were American shad, a species that travels from the ocean back to the river where they were born so they can spawn. For decades into the 20th century, the watershed by Philadelphia was so polluted that the fish could not make the journey upstream.

But thanks to state and federal efforts, the water quality has been greatly improved, to the benefit of all, including the shad. “If they are there, and even if you see them dead, that means they were able to come back, do their job, reproduce, and it’s part of the natural cycle,” said Kate Schmidt, a communications specialist for the Delaware River Basin Commission, which was created in 1961 to better coordinate planning, development and regulatory issues among the four states and the federal government.

A longtime supporter of the Sojourn, the D.R.B.C. is especially excited because the Delaware was voted Pennsylvania’s River of the Year for 2025 — with a festival to celebrate the award on June 18.

On Sojourn Time

I had plenty of time to relax and bask in the Delaware’s glory on my last day, when snafus delayed our morning departure by a couple of hours. Everybody patiently waited, chatting in the sun. When we finally started, headwinds had picked up, turning the expected easy 10-mile paddle to lunch into an unexpected workout. But we all got there and jumped on the waiting food, ravenous.

“There’s an expression we all use, ‘Sojourn time,’ to describe how we all just get into the groove and go with the flow, so to speak,” said Lorraine Martinez, 71, a steering-committee member who has been doing the trip for about two decades, though she now lives in Tennessee. “Nothing ever happens exactly on schedule — there are so many variables to contend with — so everyone just kicks back and lives in the moment.”