Sometimes the sound of running water is the only hint that an elusive swimming hole is nearby.
New York has an untold number of them, tucked under bridges, beneath highways, along hidden forest paths and in rivers, gorges, waterfalls and chasms.
The Adirondacks are dotted with them, throughout the otherwise mountainous and rural landscape. If a car is pulled off into the forest along an unmarked road, a swimming hole is bound to be just through the trees.
Along the Ausable River, behind the town hall in Keene, N.Y., Mary Pikul, 48, spent the morning splashing around with her twins, Emmie and Elle, 5; their older sister, Ever, 8; and two of their friends.
The Pikul family, who live near Kerhonkson, N.Y., were visiting their summer place. While the older children ventured into the deeper water, shrieking from the cold, Emmie and Elle jumped between rocks and their mother’s arms, alternating between adventure and comfort.
Largely unofficial, these rocky, natural pools are microcosms of community and local culture, often shared only by word of mouth, and enjoyed by generations of families looking for ways to cool off during the increasingly hot and humid Northeast summer.
Swimming holes in the Catskills attract a variety of visitors, including day-trippers from the nearby Bronx and others decamping to rentals and second homes. Upstate locations, by contrast, are often frequented by locals and in-state tourists from Buffalo, Rochester and Albany.
After a long workday, Balam Velarde, 31, had ventured alone to cool off in the quiet at a swimming hole known as Flume Falls in Wilmington, close to the Canadian border.
A mechanical engineer from Mexico, Mr. Velarde had recently relocated to Plattsburgh, N.Y., for work and spoke in Spanish about the difficulty of the cold winters up north, contrasted with the stunning beauty of summer at places like Flume Falls.
But the beauty can mask the potential dangers.
At Griffin Gorge and Waterfall in Wells, northwest of Albany, Jack Rumsey, 22, and his cousin Taylor Mahoney, 18, trekked about a quarter-mile down a near-invisible trail to the waterfall. After several cannonballs and rock slides, Mr. Rumsey, who lives in a nearby town, said that he had rescued at least three people from the pool over the years.
“If you jump too close to the waterfall, you get pulled into the current and down,” he said. He added that he had not seen anyone get injured there, “just scared.”
But at Christine Falls, a swimming hole up the road, he said, he had watched people break their jaws and other bones.
In July 2023, at a popular tourist spot in the Catskills known as Fawn’s Leap, there were three rescue operations and one drowning within two weeks.
The unsanctioned nature of swimming holes makes them both risky and appealing.
It might take several loops along a dirt road in the Adirondacks to find Dunkley Falls, which locals call the Black Hole.
At the hidden, woodsy spot, covered with mossy cliffs, a crew of young boys carefully deliberated over how (and whether) to jump into the deep, dark waters below. Several parents clustered in the shade next to the ledges, chatting as they kept a wary eye on the children’s back flips and occasional belly-flops. Many of the parents had grown up going to the swimming hole and wanted their children to experience the spot, even if they no longer lived close by.
“It’s a ritual,” said Michael Blaskewicz, 48, as he watched his son Mason, 15, confidently thrust himself off the cliff, followed tentatively by his brother Marcus, 10.
At the edge of the forest, the rev of engines announced the arrival of a swarm of motorcycles crossing a small bridge. The crew pulled off the dirt road and parked their bikes. One of the bikers, Sean Connor, approached and asked, “Is this a spot for swimming?”
He explained that his group of friends from Massachusetts was on an annual road trip.
“Every year,” he said, “we purposefully look for swimming holes along the way.”
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