Heart of parkness

Yeah, this is Brooklyn. The Ambergill Falls, to be exact—the rushing, innermost chamber of the Ravine, the deep-set forested heart of Prospect Park.

Here I dragged Spouse (just off the subway) and Child for a sunset walk; the area is so isolated and remote that I have been reluctant to explore it alone. (Probably a wise choice, although the handful of fellow walkers we met were all peaceable.) We'd only gotten into these depths once before, years ago, and I vaguely remembered a rustic shelter and a waterfall as if I'd dreamed them. And indeed, once we left the well-signed precincts for the woods, we became delightfully lost. (Well, I was delighted; Spouse kept pointing out forks in the steep paths where a nice directional sign would have been helpful.)

We started out wrong despite the excellent trail indicated in this invaluable book. (Bless Olmsted's fanciful nomenclature, which allows you to say things like, "We should have gone under the Nethermead Arches instead of crossing the Music Pagoda Bridge," as if you were in a band of questing Hobbits.) We strayed north almost to the Long Meadow, which beckoned through the trees.

  Finally, we found the nexus of steep granite steps and boulder-lined bridges that navigate the 100-foot-deep gorge of the Ravine. There it was: the rustic gazebo, built without nails by master craftsman Dennis Madge during the area's ambitious restoration in the past decade. The  logs are cedar and tamarack, and are topped by a shingled birdhouse. 

 As Olmsted intended, the illusion of an Adirondack primeval forest was complete (except for graffiti on rocks and the Styrofoam clamshells of some idiot's picnic). But the Ravine is a landscape-story of resurrection on top of illusion. The original watercourse—all man-made, laid out through forested knolls (yes, some of these trees predate the park) and glacial outwash and kettle ponds—took a heavy beating over more than a century. By the nadir of the Beame and Koch years, the falls had collapsed into a swamp, and glacial boulders placed with an artist's eye had sunk into the muck along with much else in the neglected city infrastructure. In 1994, the Prospect Park Alliance launched a prodigious restoration plan, rebuilding and replanting the Ravine at staggering cost in money and labor. (The New York Times gives a good glimpse of the work in progress in 1998 here.)

The woods are still healing—that's why the watercourse lies behind a head-high fence for much of its length—but the glory of Olmsted's design has been raised anew. The Ravine smells like mossy wet rocks; water gurgles and whispers as a thrush sings overhead. By the time we found our way out and back to the parking lot, we felt like the Incredibles, returning from an adventure far away—and the sun hadn't even quite set yet.

Comments

[ralphbon]

You found the spot I've long nicknamed the "Glade of Truancy" (in a hat-tip to the "Vale of Cashmere").

[Brenda from Flatbush]

Love it...good to hear that our city's yoots have an appreciation for fine landscape design!

[lewis and clark]

"so isolated and remote" HAHAHHAHA it's a park in the middle of brooklyn, not the heart of darkness (maybe it is?). you brave adventurer, going out into the wilderness!

[Brenda from Flatbush]

Lewis & Clark, it's nice to hear a dissenting viewpoint once in a while. You wouldn't believe the number of people (usually suburbanites) who are still stuck in our recent dystopian past and can't believe I go into the park at all, anywhere, alone, EVER. Much less toting a camera and a new bicycle. Even seasoned current users (male ones, too) have advised me against hanging out in really secluded areas alone (and yes, some of these areas are indeed secluded, visually and aurally). I aim for a happy medium between paranoia and recklessness, summed up, perhaps, as, "Discretion is the better part of valor."

[Steven M.]

The rustic gazebo at the top of the stairs by the falls is gone this year? Anyone know the story? If I had to guess, I'd think it was just vandals.