Map Source: Friends of Old Croton Aqueduct Web Site

http://www.aqueduct.org/
On and Off the Trail: An Appreciation of the Old Croton Aqueduct Trail

By Tim W. Brown

I was an old hand at walking and hiking when I arrived in Irvington, New York, in
February 2003 and first encountered the Old Croton Aqueduct Trail. The main physical activity
in which I engaged was walking (this continues to be true). Dating at least from my college
years, I had walked long distances to, as I put it, “clear my head.” I enjoyed day walks in and
around my rural college town as well as night hikes along blacktop roads and in forest preserves.

During the three or four years prior to moving to New York, I was working at a major
Chicago bank’s technical center near O’Hare International Airport. Across the road from my
place of employment was Catherine Chevalier Woods, part of the Cook County Forest Preserve
System, where I took daily walks at lunchtime. I didn’t know it then, but this experience primed
me for the Aqueduct Trail’s attractions. Chevalier Woods was an oasis of nature improbably
located in the suburbs of a major city. Its trails were well-marked and heavily trod by nearby
residents. It boasted an interesting history

Upon moving into a house in Irvington that my family rented temporarily until we found
a permanent home in Dobbs Ferry, our landlady, a village booster listing the village’s many
amenities, mentioned the Aqueduct Trail. Given my recent history and personal interests, my
ears perked up and, despite the winter weather, I climbed up Main Street on the very next day
after moving in to search for the trail. I quickly found it after negotiating the Middle School’s
parking lot and headed north toward Tarrytown. Even though I had just moved a thousand miles
from where I was born and raised, a few minutes on the trail immediately made me feel at home,
and to this day I credit its existence with acclimating me to my brand-new life in an unfamiliar
place.

During the first year and a half of living in New York, I worked at home, telecommuting.
This favorable situation freed me up to continue pursuing my passion in life, walking. With the
help of a book describing a number of hiking opportunities in the metropolitan area, I spent my
lunch “hour” (sometimes extending to two or more hours) exploring Rockefeller State Park, the
Palisades Trail, Van Cortlandt Park and even Staten Island’s Green Belt. I always returned to the
Aqueduct, however, as my hometown trail, and I came to know it intimately.

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 An hour’s time, give or take, forces one to divide his or her treks into digestible sections.
As time went on, I isolated my least favorite and most favorite stretches in the Rivertowns and
beyond.

My least favorite section is that between Cedar Street in Dobbs Ferry and where the trail
crosses Broadway in Hastings-on-Hudson. The trail essentially disappears along the spine above
Dobbs Ferry’s Main Street. To the west is a parking lot and to the east are the Post Office, City
Hall and several blocks of commercial buildings. Beyond Walnut Street is a stretch broken up by
residential cross streets and two intersections with Broadway. There is very little to distinguish
this portion of the trail with the exception of [where we’re gathered today] the maintenance
barns, built in the 1880s, and the Keeper’s House, rebuilt using stone in 1857 to replace a wood-
framed 1845 structure. An air of history permeates this spot; it’s one of the few along the trail
where a human presence is felt. The stone ventilators situated along the trail obviously are man-
made, but one gets the impression that they were built and forgotten, mechanically fulfilling their
function minus any further human touch.

A close second on my short list of dislikes is the section between Shonnard Terrace and
Lamartine Avenue. Unlike the southern Dobbs Ferry portion, the trail itself remains intact. Trees
arch overhead, tall grasses grow on either side, wildflowers peek out here and there. However, a
decidedly urban character takes over. Litter, broken glass, even used condoms dot the trail. A
few weeks ago, my wife found a broken violin in the weeds. She took it home despite my
protestations that it wasn’t worth salvaging. In the back yards of the run-down houses adjacent to
the trail pit bulls bark menacingly, straining against their chains. Shady-looking young people
either murmur plots or shout obscenities into their cell phones. I don’t travel down this way very
often; it makes me depressed knowing that people living nearby don’t treasure this resource;
instead, they treat it like a dumping ground akin to a back alley.

North of Shonnard Terrace marks the beginning point of my favorite trail sections. The
trail undergoes a complete transformation. The litter vanishes, and the urban feel disappears.
Even better, the vistas overlooking the mighty Hudson River open up. Indeed, the gaps in the
trees along this stretch provide the best views of the river and palisades anywhere in or near the
Rivertowns. Two notable landmarks here include the Lenoir Preserve and a limestone lion face
embedded in a hillside beside a set of overgrown stairs. My experiences off the trail began here.

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The Lenoir Preserve consists of forty acres of a rather steep, tree-covered slope leading to a
meadow with breath-taking views of the Hudson. It’s here, perhaps, that I’ve seen the most
wildlife along the trail: small herds of deer nibbling at the undergrowth (they always travel in
groups of two or more), hawks wheeling in the skies above and red-wing blackbirds clinging
precariously to tall blades of grass.

The lion’s face signals entry into Untermeyer Park, whose stately, but shabby, neo-classic
columns, arches and empty reflecting pools hint of the spot’s past grandeur. Although I’ve never
visited Athens or Rome, I imagine these fixtures to be in the same state of decay as the classical
architecture of those ancient cities. Leave it to America and its disrespect for the past to allow
such comparable deterioration in so short a time, that is, within a hundred years. During the day,
in my experience at least, the park has always been deserted, making me feel every time I’ve
stopped in that I’m discovering the remnants of some lost civilization.

This may either be due to Yonkers residents who are too busy working during weekdays
to kill time in the park or to the park’s notorious reputation as a devil-worshipping site.
Reportedly, David Berkowitz, aka “Son of Sam,” associated with a group of occultists that
performed Satanic rituals at night in the park. I’ve heard that third-shift workers at St. John’s
Hospital next door used to see bonfires in the woods, where Satanists or Satanist wannabes
performed unspeakable acts. Some of this may be urban myth; yet it would difficult for police
investigators anybody else to explain the seemingly ritually slaughtered dogs regularly disposed
of there.

The name “Untermeyer” disguises the park’s true historical significance. Originally
known as “Greystone” (hence the nearby Metro North Railroad station’s name), the land
belonged first to Samuel J. Tilden, whose stately mansion still looms over the grounds. Tilden is
known primarily for winning the popular vote in the 1876 presidential election but tying
Rutherford B. Hayes in the Electoral College vote. The House of Representatives settled the
controversy by awarding the presidency to Hayes. Before running for president, Tilden was the
Eliot Spitzer of his day, a civic crusader who finally succeeded in breaking Tammany Hall’s
longstanding grip on New York City politics. Although his sexual proclivities were never
publicized like Spitzer’s, Tilden owned the largest pornography collection east of the Mississippi
River according to the author Gore Vidal.

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 Turning north of Dobbs Ferry, the trail meanders through some conducive and historic
scenery. Stepping onto the trail from Cedar Street, one enters a reasonably natural space
punctuated by minor water falls resulting from creeks and runoff. I always pause when I hear
these and let their bubbling sound soothe me. This stretch of the trail boasts some very
significant architecture, including Nevis, home of James Hamilton – hey! how can you get more
historic than a homestead named for a founding father’s home island, built by his son. The site is
now occupied by Columbia University Press. Another home I’ve noticed while walking through
this section is one that I don’t believe has any historical import. Still, perched above the trail it
resembles Wayne Manor from the old “Batman” television show. I used to be incredulous at the
mountain cave from which the Batmobile erupted, thinking that it must have been a Hollywood
gaffe, a problem of continuity regarding the surely flat Gotham City environs. Nowadays, I know
better and continue to be amazed by the topography of Westchester County, and along the
Aqueduct in particular, and I presently view “Wayne Manor” as a totally believable setting.

Further north from Wayne Manor as one enters Irvington stands the famed Octagon
House. I recently had the privilege of walking the grounds and viewing this structure up close
during a benefit for the Rivertowns Arts Council. I even was able to peer into the windows and
view the period furnishings lovingly arranged by the home’s restorer/inhabitant, Joseph
Lombardi. Painted pink according to strict landmark commission dictates, with all manner of
Victorian doodads, including Roman centurion faces in the porch railings, rounded Jules Verne
bubble windows, and weather vanes and lightning rods pricking up everywhere, the Octagon
House, a true one-of-a-kind, is obviously a remarkable structure. But I have to think, based on
my Midwestern upbringing and the no-nonsense form-before-function beliefs drilled into me,
that this structure is, well, an architectural monstrosity, especially when your taste runs toward
modernist Frank Lloyd Wright Prairie School architecture.

The Octagon House is not alone in its monstrous expression of architecture along the
Aqueduct Trail. North of Irvington Middle School are two highly significant historical
landmarks. Down Sunnyside Lane one encounters the cottage occupied way back when by local
literary hero Washington Irvington. Actually, I don’t mind this historic home, a rare example of
the Dutch domestic style. Its smallish, human scale always gives the impression of humility in
the shadows of impossibly spectacular scenery. When I first arrived in Irvington and was
checking out the trail, I made my way to the grounds surrounding the house and absorbed the

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literary vibes of a true giant who contributed so much to early American letters. However, the
site director, Dina Friedman, burst out of nowhere, accosted me rather aggressively and ordered
me to leave. You see, I had wandered into the place before March when weekday hours began.

A bit further up is, of course, the pride of the Aqueduct Trail, Lyndhurst. Built in the
1830s through the 1860s after the manner of European Gothic cathedrals in an era when all
things European were viewed as superior, I find its design appalling, an example of the common
architectural style known as American Overkill. The gothic aesthetic ruled American arts and
letters during its construction; I’m reminded that artists and writers of the period wished to
convey sublime beauty in their works, but they also aimed to instill feelings of profound terror.
With Lyndhurst, the latter goal was certainly achieved. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that one of
its occupants was robber baron Jay Gould, considered by many to be a monster for his devilish
business dealings.

Still, I find Lyndhurst’s grounds to be prettily landscaped, and I enjoy attending the arts
and crafts fairs and Lego-building festivals held there.

What I enjoy more is going off the trail into the woods surrounding the estate. There are
two paths that veer off the trail into the woods. The first heads down an embankment and
disappears amid a collection of giant limestone blocks of varying shapes. I think they’ve been
there forever, left over from Lyndhurst’s building or remodeling. To continue hiking in these
woods requires bushwhacking through some closely spaced trees and thick undergrowth, so after
satisfying my curiosity of where the path led I haven’t returned in several years.

The second path, however, leads to some interesting artifacts on view to those willing to
explore. For example, there is an old stone kiln built into a ravine; no doubt it provided pottery
items to Lyndhurst’s residents in the nineteenth century before the availability of mass-produced
goods. There also is an algae-choked pond surrounded by a fence to prevent dumping, which has
nonetheless been occurring for what seems like a long time. The biggest thing left behind here is
an abandoned, sixties-era pickup truck that looks as though someone lived inside it at one time.
One also will find stone foundations and stairs leading to nowhere, evidence of past inhabitants,
although I’m unsure if they pre-date the mansion or not. If the path is followed to its conclusion,
one arrives at a precipice with the Metro North train tracks immediately below and terrific views

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of the palisades and Tappan Zee Bridge beyond. As far as I know this spot is the closest to the
Hudson River accessible from the trail.

I don’t know if exploring these woods is considered trespassing. There aren’t any signs
posted that warn against entering the property. Absent such signs, I interpret they’re giving their
tacit approval for accessing the place. Nobody official has ever approached me and demanded I
leave (nobody has ever approached me in these woods, period). But I have a ready answer in
case this ever happens, which takes the form of a question: if I’m not carrying a gun (hunting
hazard) or smoking (fire hazard), then how am I harming anyone or anything?

So far, my experience with the Aqueduct Trail has been limited to the stretch from
Yonkers to Tarrytown. I know there are other equally striking sections of the trail further north. I
look forward to exploring these some day. And, I assure you, if I see an opening off the trail to
somewhere that looks interesting, I’ll enter it.