An Awesome Trip to the Lower Hudson River Valley, Part 1
Croton Gorge Park, NY
You know that scene in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince when our hero drinks Liquid Luck and announces to Hermione and Ron that he feels “excellent, really excellent?” Then, to their dismay, Harry proceeds to follow his bliss instead of the trio’s plan to get Professor Slughorn to ‘fess up to what he told Tom Riddle, a.k.a., Voldemort. Desite his digression, though, everything turns out A-OK: Harry ultimately extracts the information he seeks and has some fun along the way.
I’m not suggesting that you brew a batch of Felix Felicis and gulp it down before setting out on your next road trip. Although, if you know how to procure ingredients like Ashwinder eggs and squill bulbs and can incantate them into a substance that looks like molten gold and gives its taker a few hours of luck, then perhaps you should.
What I am suggesting is that, when, like Harry, you get “a really good feeling” about going somewhere, go. Plans be damned!
Here’s what happened a few weeks ago when I went Rogue Harry on my travel plans. While driving from Kennett Square, PA, toward the Hudson River Valley, undecided about where to stay that evening or what to do the next day, I was listening to The Bowery Boys* podcast episode #386: “On the Trail of the Old Croton Aqueduct.” I’d never heard of the Old Croton Aqueduct. Turns out it was built between 1837-42 to carry fresh water from the Old Croton River in Westchester County 41 miles south to an ever-increasing mass of thirsty, dirty people in New York City. This supply line was supplemented in 1890 by the New Croton Aqueduct. The old aqueduct was mostly shut off in 1955 and, since 1968, 26.2 miles of it have been owned, converted to trails, and maintained by New York State as a linear park.
If I’ve never heard of a historic site, and then I learn something about it that catches my interest, I’m in. That “something,” in this case, was the transformation of a man-made engineering marvel—one that was highly disruptive to nature and to the humans it displaced—into a trail that beckons people outdoors. In short, the interplay and changing fortunes of humanity and nature.
I booked a cozy Airbnb in Dobbs Ferry and enjoyed an evening walk along the Hudson River. The next day, I planned to drive up Route 9, hike several miles of the aqueduct to historic sites in Sleepy Hollow, Tarrytown, and Irvington, then return to Dobbs Ferry for more trail and history.
When I woke up the next morning, my inner self rebelled at the plans I’d concocted the evening before. My inner self told my outer self, the one that drives the car, to head to the nearest Starbucks, then take the most direct route to Croton Gorge Park and hike there. My inner self was feeling the pull of nature, and balked at the very idea of firing up the ol’ brain cells. Think of a college student burrowing deeper into a nest of blankets instead of getting out of bed for an 8 a.m. class.
After drinking an uncharacteristically weak cup of coffee at the Dobbs Ferry Starbucks—the manager and I had words the next day and I learned why my tall Pike Place Roast was “meh;” however, I won’t digress that far off course—I cruised up the Saw Mill River Parkway to the Taconic State. The view of misty mountains and glittering water from a bridge over the reservoir made me say “oh, nice!” out loud. Both my inner and outer selves agreed with this observation.
I continued obeying my GPS overlord, who guided me to a forested, muddy lane with a few parking spaces. Reassured by the distant thrum of falling water that I had, in fact, reached my intended destination, I parked my car and ventured forth. The morning air was fresh and invigorating, the sound of chirping birds delighful, and the rise in the road raised my heart rate just enough. My interaction with nature was meeting expectations.
And, then:
It Happened.
I heard it, saw it, experienced it in an all-encompassing rush: the roaring, powerful, overwhelming beauty of water cascading down the spillway in an epic collaboration between man and nature, greenish-grey mountains rolling into glassy-calm water farther from the spillway, the majestic expansive amazingness of what I could only think of as “This.”
I was rattled out of the ordinary, I was gobsmacked by the universe, as the Outside podcast I’d been listening to earlier that week put it.
I propelled myself several steps further on to the bridge that crosses the dam, then stood there murmuring “So beautiful, so so beautiful.” (Think Jodie Foster in Contact.)
While I was gaping, an elderly man asked, either out of real interest or to get me to move out of his way, “Is this your first time here?”
“Yes,” I answered. Feeling that I needed to explain myself, I continued, “It’s so—so awe-inspiring.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I walk this bridge every day and never get tired of it.”
With that, he gave me a friendly wave—NYC was 41 miles and light years of rudeness away—and continued along.
It took me, I don’t know, 15 or 20 minutes, before I yanked myself out of the spell cast by the New Croton Dam. As I continued across the bridge and down a switchback dirt path through the woods, my sense of wonder gradually dissipated into a feeling of utter calm and contentedness. Not even the distinct possibility of encountering a snake worried me in the wake of what felt like a magical experience.
Why did this place have such a powerful effect on me? One reason is that it was completely unanticipated. My expectations extended no further than taking a low-key nature walk. Had someone said to me, “CHRISTINA, YOU MUST GO TO THE NEW CROTON DAM, IT IS THE MOST AWE-INSPIRING PLACE ON EARTH,” I would’ve been disappointed because the New Croton Dam couldn’t have lived up to the hype. If you’ve heard repeatedly how amazing a place or a thing is, and then, once you’re actually there, you feel kind of let down, you know what I mean. That’s how I felt when I saw Botticelli’s Venus on the Half-Shell—sorry, The Birth of Venus—at the Uffizi in Florence. That’s why I’ll never go to Paris. And that’s why I’ve probably just ruined the New Croton Dam awe experience for you.
For similar reasons, when I finished the woodsy walk that deposited me back at my car, I did not return to the bridge for one last view. After that transcendent first experience, a subsequent encounter would’ve been a disappointment.
If I was writing a Rules of Awe guidebook, I’d include a chapter called “Don’t Be Greedy.” When you see a double rainbow, or a bald eagle lands on your kayak, or you go gaga over your first view of the New Croton Dam, savor the experience, be entirely in the moment, do not break the spell by pulling out your camera, and do not try to re-create that feeling of awe once it’s passed. You can’t. Be thankful for what you had and move along.
Come on, stop being so stingy, you may be thinking. You’re going on and on about your awe-inducing experience. I want one now! (Think Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory). Fair enough.
While you can’t simply wave a magic wand à la Harry Potter and say, “Awesomeness, appearus nowus!,” you can create a mindset that is receptive to awe. And doing so is not nearly as New Agey as it sounds. Several things that work for me:
Toss goals and expectations out the window and try to experience life in the moment. Obviously, you don’t want to do this at work or school or other situations where goal-setting is required. But, when you’re walking on the beach or gazing out a train window, wave your metaphorical magic wand and banish all the background noise involving school permission slips, what your work frenemy really meant by that comment during the 11:00 Zoom, and the like.
Seek out beauty. The world is undeniably full of ugliness: blighted places, hateful speech, nasty people, you catch my drift. Fortunately, the world is also full of beauty. Recognize it, seek it out, appreciate it.
Returning to “don’t get greedy:” Awe comes in different degrees. Knock-your-socks-off experiences like mine at the New Croton Dam don’t occur very often, no matter how open you are to them, or how much you really, really, REALLY want them to happen. Quick hits of awe are—well, pretty awesome—and, according to science, beneficial to your health and well-being.
In the next edition of Christina’s Travels, I’ll share the pops of pleasure that peppered the rest of my “excellent, really excellent” day in the Lower Hudson River Valley.
*The Bowery Boys: As of this writing, my buddies Greg Young and Tom Meyers have recorded 414 episodes of their podcast The Bowery Boys. Okay, I don’t know Greg and Tom, but I feel like I do because they come across as my Bluetooth BFFs. Point is, these guys know their New York history, and they know how to share it in a completely engaging, “this is so worth my time” manner. Want to learn the (surprising) history of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree? Find out how the ice business transformed 19th century New York? Dive into Gilded Age gossip and glamour? If any or all of those sound interesting, you’ll probably enjoy The Bowery Boys as much as I do. Give them a listen!
Beautiful! Words and pictures! My mantra too. Hence our month long wandering of southern France
Good writing and good advice!