Platt's Clove

Zach and Ned and I took a drive out between Saugerties and Woodstock to this beautiful woods-trail that runs alongside a river. It was amazing, every 5 mins or so a new waterhole would come up in a different part of the river, each almost better than the last.

The drive itself was an adventure. Going on Ned's spider-sense of direction and his shady memory of past trips to the spot, we stopped and asked twice for the correct way, and still we drove on in uncertainty. Each new branch off of the main road was potentially our intended path. We soldiered on and finally came to park in the right place. It had already begun to rain. This was a trip for the three of us to go swimming at an awesome place, and it starts raining, and thundering. Undeterred, we hiked up the trail.

Zach and I would stop and marvel at each new waterfall and swimming hole, but Ned would goad us on saying, "it gets good up ahead," or "This shit is a dime a dozen here," and everytime we believed him.




We finally made it to a cove, an overhang of a cliff under which we were safe from the rain, and hopefully the lightning.







We set up camp, and scrambled for dry wood before the rain turned torrential. Lighting up some scraps of Birch bark, we quickly has a nice little fire going, a beacon of warmth in the dull gray of the rainsoaked forest. Now we could swim. We stripped down to the essentials and made our way to the water. Zach and I toe'd the water, both of us cringing and squealing like little princesses. It was cold, mad cold. We were no longer sure how much we wanted to swim, and I silently contemplated if the hour-long trip would be wasted if I didnt go in the damn water. Ned stepped up and emboldened us, taking me with him and leaving Zach to moan and stay dry and somewhat warm. Ned and I dove in on three and hoooweee, it was a shock. Not as bad as I had imagined from my big toe's report. We quickly got out, felt the now warm air on our near-deathly cold skin. We ran to the fire and warmed up, steam rising from our shorts and skin.






We whispered some covert treachery and I went over to ask the dry and cozy Zach what he thought about leaving, whether or not we should put more wood on the fire or leave it and take off when it was done. We discussed as Ned came up to us, staring right at Zach. Zach looked up, took one gander at Ned's expression and posture and cried out, "Oh no, guys, no!" We both took hold of his arms, he instinctively removed his glasses and set them down, giving us the sign that although he was not willing he would be overtaken. We got him in there no problem, and I think we helped him remove some future regret at not taking the plunge with the rest of the guys.

We all chilled out, warming up by the fire, smoking, eating, chatting. We set up a course of stacked cans that had been left in a fire pit, probably by some high school posse of assholes, and had a game of toss. After a period of chucking rocks of all sizes at the cans, we collected them up, put them all together on a large rock. I hiked up to the cliff overhang and got ready to drop a massive rock on the assembly of cans, Lord of the Flies style (poor piggy). After that landed, we took our empty water gallon and, filling it with river water, set it on the same stage. After several failed drops, a nice round monster of a stone landed perfectly square on the top of the jug, causing a triumphant explosion.

The blast heralded our departure, and before I even made it back down to the site the fire was out and all our things packed for the 10 minute hike back the road. The rain had eased, after being light to heavy to medium, then really heavy. We made it back to the Buick and had a casual ride home, Zach next to me in the navigator chair, Ned in the back hammering out some funky blues infused rock riffs. You had to be there.