Hiking Manhattan's Oldest Natural Forest
By Sarah RobbGrieco, Northeast Regional Manager
No one believes it at first, when I tell them there’s a centuries-old, natural forest in Manhattan. I suppose I can’t really blame them. It’s pretty unbelievable. But I promise, it’s there, standing tall at the northern tip of the island overlooking the Hudson River with a view of the Palisades. Like the Avalon of Arthurian legend or Wonder Woman’s “Paradise Island”, Themyscira, it’s hidden in plain sight, shrouded, in this case, not by mists or magic, but by our human tendency to stick to our own neighborhood. Take my advice: Whether on foot or by train, subway, bus or car, go there!
The day we inducted Shorakapok Preserve in Inwood Hill Park into the Old-Growth Forest Network was the first time I ever saw this forest. It was one of those gloriously sunny October days when the orange leaves on the ground and on the half-bare branches make everything feel like it’s glowing. My sister Nicole, our NYC area volunteer county coordinator, and I took the Metro North Hudson Line from Irvington to Marble Hill. On this stretch of track, the train follows the banks of the Hudson where riders get to watch the contours of the steep and dramatic Palisades cliffs rise and fall on the other side of the river all along the way.
When we arrived at the Marble Hill platform, we walked across the humming, 4-lane double-decker Broadway Bridge and watched rowers working out on the Harlem River below. We walked down the hill past Columbia University’s football stadium, crossed the street in front of the neighborhood coffee shop and stepped over the curb into the park. It was City of Forest Day, and the park was full of activity: volunteers planting trees, families participating in a NY Road Runners Open Run, park employees hosting information tables, and kids playing soccer. And at the edge of the soccer field was the trailhead leading into the forest.
Shorakapok Preserve is a 140-acre forest. It’s big enough to feel like you are really removed from the city when you are on its trails. And this forest is OLD. It has towering red oaks, one of the biggest hemlocks I’ve ever seen, and some of the largest tulip trees in the city. It also has prehistoric cave dwellings used by the native Lenape people that you can explore up close. And the forest is an oasis for birds. In just the couple of hours that we spent there, we saw a wide range of species, most notably a Red-tailed Hawk, an American Kestrel and a Peregrine Falcon.
What’s most impressive, though, about this forest, is not the immense age and size of its trees, not its historical significance nor its biodiversity. What’s most impressive is that it exists at all. It doesn’t take much to see how close this forest came to being swallowed by urban expansion. When you walk the trails, the evidence is right under your feet. Almost every path in the forest is wide and paved. The blanket of leaves on the ground at this time of year softens the lines, but nonetheless, the impact is felt. There is one section of trail where the path narrows a bit and the asphalt has mostly crumbled away. In my opinion, this is the most beautiful part of the forest. The trail is on a downhill slope and you descend into a deep, shady area where the land rises on either side of the path and the old, crooked tree limbs stretch across the air above you creating a tunnel to walk through. It feels wild in there and old and mystical. And then you notice them: antique street lamps lining the trail. Yes, street lamps. In the forest. They’re old relics of the Works Progress Administration, broken, not in use, but like astronauts’ flags on the moon, they still stand, staking their claim, marking their territory, attempting to tame the wildness of this place.
You might think that the asphalt and the old lamps would diminish the beauty of this forest, but for me, they amplify it. The visibility of this forest’s struggle to exist against the tide of urbanization in New York City makes it feel all the more special that it is still here. To me those broken street lamps, tarnished and mottled, blending into the shadows, are reminders of the street that wasn’t allowed to be, the road that was never laid, the buildings that were never built. They show me how close we came to losing this forest and make me appreciate the countless people across generations who argued and lobbied and fought for and stewarded and loved this forest. The forest is here because of them, and I feel proud that the Old-Growth Forest Network has joined their ranks.
So, to the non-believers out there, believe it. Against all odds, many voices were raised in a strain reaching across generations. And from that heroic sound grew a miraculous, almost mythical (and, I dare say, even a little bit magical) old forest.
