The Bronx River

 Living in the urban core of a sprawling metropolis, one develops passionate fantasies about abundant, clean, pristine nature, especially during the summer. New Yorkers have a habit of leaving the city during the summer, as their means allow. We do have nature in the city - huge rivers, beaches, forested parks, gardens, etc. - but not "abundant, clean, pristine" nature. An "urban hike" along the Bronx River, as a friend suggested, did not promise to fulfill my nature fantasy for a nice Sunday in June. The Bronx River barely registers as blue or green on a map amidst the street grid, other than in the Botanical Garden.

But who am I to demand on-demand access to bountiful natural resources? Where I come from, suburban New Jersey, was almost as urbanized and environmentally degraded as New York City. The river through my neighborhood growing up, the east branch of the Rahway, was more like the Bronx River than a clear mountain stream. Fed from concrete culverts and storm sewers, it occupied a narrow, tree-lined, virtually ignored strip between suburban houses. When us local teens would seek out its shores for their relative seclusion, we could see sewer pipes crossing from bank to bank, hear the highway a few blocks away, and admire the view of the back of a warehouse, with the lights of Home Depot beyond.

Most of my great ideas of the natural beauty of the world have been from vacations, special occasions, and random wanderings. From the inner nodes of the NY area, where I find myself returning after ill-conceived sojourns of various durations to greener pastures, the mountains, fertile fields and clear waters that have shaped my sense of identity each take varying degrees of time, money and effort to get to. In this metro area, we do ok with what we can access in day trips or short overnights - the Catskills or the Hudson Highlands or the Jersey Shore, to name some places - but I come home tired (if happy), having been on the move all day, with chores undone. The Bronx River on the other hand is right in our backyards, a long walk or short bus ride from where I sit now.

What We Saw

The railroads, highways, city streets, corroding submerged electric scooters, dilapidated encampments, garbage and grime found in and around the Bronx River constitute a degree of development and environmental damage beyond what I saw around me as a kid, but nevertheless it felt familiar. Sitting on its semi-nice, semi-gross banks brought me back to high school (and I actually mean that in a good way), but with the bland suburban flavor of my youth replaced by a more pungent inner city taste.

We found much to enjoy in the urban riparian nature, especially from that frame of reference. We ate from mullberry trees fruiting in the narrow parks that line some of the banks. The few remaining forested areas were elegant. I saw a large sugar maple rising out of rich soil, surrounded by oaks and other hardwoods. Fish with colorful tails swam around the submerged scooters and bikes. I think they were yellow perch. The water was fairly clear in some spots, and the river had shallow sandy stretches and small rapids that were pretty. 

The Bronx teens were using the river more than I ever would have imagined using the Rahway*: swimming in it. People were even jumping off of a high mud bank, in a scene that reminded me of the Pine Barrens or probably thousands of other swimming holes all over the place. In the riverside parks there was also a strong barbecue game, as anyone familiar with the outer boroughs of NYC can picture. We ran across a few more disgruntled characters too, as New Yorkers can also picture.

Without question the Bronx River answered the desire for outdoor adventure. Navigating between well-maintained bike paths, old semi-abandoned underpasses, highway spaghetti, and muddy, vine-covered trails felt like exploring the city's hidden borderlands. What it lacked in "clean" and "remote" it made up for in "interesting." After literally getting off the beaten path making our way upstream, we felt culturally off the beaten path when we emerged in Wakefield to satisfy our hunger at a taqueria and seek transit home. No signs of gentrification met the eye in this far-flung working class neighborhood along the 5 train.

Was it beautiful? That's harder to evaluate. That spiritually stirring sense of freedom of vast undisturbed nature - a feeling I chase like a high - was absent, but of all of the kinds natural features, a freshwater river I feel has a personality and a sense of gravity, and the Bronx River had those qualities as much as any other river. Looking at its steep little valley, covered with city streets and the Woodlawn cemetery, from the window of the (aboveground) 5 train on the way home, I got a real appreciation of the geography of an inland part of the city I knew little about before.

*But ask me about my not-to-be-repeated swim in the sewage-laden Passaic River