Roscoe, New York calls itself “Trout Town USA.” Probably the most famous fly fishing river east of the Mississippi, the Beaverkill begins at Junction Pool, where hundreds of fishermen and women test their skills each spring. Roscoe is the center of fly fishing in the Catskills. For over 100 years, the Beaverkill, Willowemec, Delaware and other streams have attracted the preeminent fly fishers in America including Theodore Gordon, Art Flick and Joan and Lee Wulff. The Catskills soon became known as the birthplace of American Fly Fishing.
A journey to the Beaverkill River is like a pilgrimage, a long journey to a sacred place. Muslims make a pilgrimage to Mecca once in their lives. Christians travel to Rome to visit the Vatican and hear the Pope speak. In ancient times, Jews used to travel to the Temple in Jerusalem three times a year to offer sacrifices to God. Today, a trip to Israel remains a sacred pilgrimage for Jews, a way to connect to the past and the Bible. While I would not put Roscoe New York on the same spiritual plane as the Temple in Jerusalem, for many fly fishers the Beaverkill River is a sacred site, a place like no other in America to cast a fly.
In October 2001, I journeyed to Roscoe on a trip that felt much like a pilgrimage. It was only a few weeks after 9/11. From my apartment in Brooklyn, I could still smell the smoke coming from the remains of the twin towers. New York City felt like a war zone, and I needed some time away, a safe place in a world that felt upside-down.
After a two hour car trip, I arrived at Roscoe New York, population 597. Every pilgrimage has rituals, and a trip to Roscoe is no different. I ate at the Roscoe Diner, I visited Catskill Flies to get some gear and good advice, and I checked into the Reynolds House, a nice B&B right in town. Finally, it was time to go fishing.
As I had been looking forward to fly fishing the Beaverkill for a long time, I could not help imagining what would happen when I finally cast my line. I dreamt of a beautiful river, filled with large rising trout. On a perfect fall day, I would be the only person around for miles, and I would catch and release fish after fish for hours. Needless to say, my dreams for this fly fishing pilgrimage were a bit unrealistic. Junction Pool was too crowded, the Beaverkill River was low that year, and I got skunked for two days, not catching a single trout. I realized that while the pools of the Beaverkill might be famous, for me that day they were also fishless.
Picture: The Beaverkill River
On my second day of fly fishing, when the streams would not yield a bite, I decided to abandon my fly rod and go for a hike. I climbed to the top of one of the hills which was very steep, and I looked around. Trees covered the Catskill Mountains in all directions, the leaves were turning brilliant yellows and oranges. I had never witnessed such a beautiful fall scene in my life. As I stood on top of the hill, I realized that I had completed my pilgrimage. The sacred site that I was looking for was not Junction Pool or the Beaverkill River. It was on top of that mountain, where I felt in awe of the beauty of nature.
Picture: On top of a Catskill Mountain in October 2001
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Many religions consider high places to be holy. Mt Fuji in Japan is worshipped. The Temple in Jerusalem was located on a hill, the highest point in the ancient city. In the modern Jewish synagogue, the Rabbi and Cantor sit on a bimah¸ a raised platform, above the pews of the congregation. When we arrive at a place that is high above ground, we feel less caught up in the everyday, and we can see a new perspective on our lives.
Being on top of that hill in the Catskills reminded me of another pilgrimage that I once took, to Mt. Sinai in Egypt. In the Bible, Moses went up Mt. Sinai to speak to God and to receive the 10 Commandments. Moses was up there for 40 days and 40 nights, and he needed no food or water.
My wife and I arrived at St. Catherine’s Monastery on the foot of Mt. Sinai in the early evening. The monastery was built in the 6th Century upon the supposed spot of the Burning Bush, where God first spoke to Moses. The fortress-like building contained many ancient artifacts and a skull room, but it was closed for the night.
The fastest way to get up to the top of Mt. Sinai is by camel. We were helped up on the saddles of the tall brown beasts. Soon we were working our way up the mountain on a narrow path. It quickly became dark. For some reason, the camels liked to walk right near the edge of the path, overlooking the depths below, so that the entire trip I had a great view of how far I would fall if the camel tripped. After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at a small shack, where an Egyptian man was smoking comfortably and a few other tourists were huddled in the corners. It was 2 a.m. by now, and we were freezing on top of the mountain, with the winds blowing through the open walls of the shelter without mercy. We crawled under a blanket and half-slept, shivering and praying that the night would soon end.
We awoke to see a sunrise that was beyond description. I forgot all about the trails of the night before. The light illuminated rounded peaks in all directions. Standing on this mountain, I understood how Moses could feel the presence of God in such a place. I wanted the walk down Mt. Sinai to last forever, as I stared at the mountains and the occasional goat searching for something to eat.
Pictures: Mt. Sinai at sunrise. Look for the mountain goat in the third picture!
A pilgrimage is about taking the time to escape the everyday, about traveling to a place that is far from the ordinary. This type of journey can be a search for safety in a post 9/11 world, a return to nature and simplicity when human society seems so distorted and difficult. A pilgrimage is also about connecting to the past. I may not have caught a fish in Roscoe, but knowing that I was fishing the same rivers as Theodore Gordon and other greats made me feel grounded and authentic.
Perhaps the ultimate goal of a pilgrimage is enlightenment, the gaining of wisdom and knowledge like Moses on Mt. Sinai. Standing on top of a hill in Roscoe in the fall and shivering in that shack on Mt. Sinai, I did not directly hear the voice of God. But the beauty of my surroundings helped me to look beyond my own life, and to contemplate the Divine, and that made these two journeys well worthwhile.
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