The upper Beaverkill Valley is situated in a small well-worn range of mountains. Its beauty resides more in the serene sweep of its slopes, the harmony of it contours and the appeal of its covering, whether it be forest, rock, or snow. And down its crooked 28-mile spine flows the Beaverkill River.

At the top of the valley, the Beaverkill rises in a narrow, rocky hollow nestled between Graham and Doubletop mountains. There the stream is small enough for beavers to build dams across it, creating ponds that give added cover to the wild brook trout that thrive in its upper reaches.

Quite frequently, as the river runs down the valley, an exposed section of bedrock forms the bank or bottom of the stream. These solid rock surfaces direct the water’s cutting force, continually sweeping out the sand and gravel, and maintaining the deeper pools of the upper river.

These cool glens are just one of the features that inspired fishermen of the mid-nineteenth century to call the Beaverkill a “boss place for trout fishing.” Trout love the river’s cold, clear springs and feeder streams, shaded archways of evergreens and hardwoods, water that rarely rises above 70 degrees, beds of clean gravel and sand for spawning, and organic matter on which feed the insects on which feed the trout. Add an angler and the food chain is complete.

Myriad boulders and rocks sculpt the river into a diversity of riffles, runs, pools, eddies, glides and, particularly, pockets. Pockets, both beautiful to look at and often the places where trout hide, range from washbasin- to quadruple-bathtub in size, depressions surrounded by rocks through which the water flows in a complexity of currents. Because of the difficulty of casting among such obstacles and the intricacies of controlling the fly line in conflicting currents, many anglers consider successful pocket fishing to be the ultimate in streamcraft.

How the Beaverkill Valley has survived with its natural beauty intact and gained its world-class fly-fishing reputation is a fascinating story of economic and sociological change. The valley was settled in the late 1700s by the Stewarts, a family of farmers whose descendants still live there. From its earliest days, the local economy revolved around agriculture and such tree-based industries as leather tanning with hemlock bark and lumbering. Wherever the river could be dammed to provide six to seven feet of “head” (or waterfall), millers erected water wheels to power the saws that would slice logs into boards.

It is rare that one can pick an exact date for the beginning of such momentous change as the Catskills’ shift from an agricultural to a recreational economy. However, in 1872, two railroads were completed – the Ulster & Delaware and the Ontario & Western – that would carry fishermen and hunters, provide transportation for hatchery trout, and publicize boardinghouses and hotels throughout the region. Until that time, only a real hardy and determined soul would spend two days traveling from New York City by steamer up the Hudson, and then by stagecoach over the old turnpike roads, to reach the mountains.

Several other forces converged to complete the change in the local economy: farms were sold or converted to boarding establishments to house the weekend travelers from New York; tanneries exhausted their supply of hemlock bark (chemical tanning had been invented as well); and steam-powered circular saws gave rise to larger, central sawmills. Of greater importance to our little valley than all of these, however, was the emergence of fly fishing.

Often called “the gentle art” because of the beautiful settings and the quiet, contemplative manner in which it is pursued, fly fishing is the rhythmic cast of a gracefully flowing fly line attached at its tapering, gossamer end to a weightless fishing lure – the fly. The fly is an art form in itself, often collected instead of fished with. It is “tied” onto a tiny steel hook using colorful feathers, fur and other materials to imitate the insects that are the fish’s food. You can fly-fish for almost any species, in salt or fresh water, but fly fishermen traditionally fish in rivers, and the customary quarry is salmon or trout.

In America, just as in England, fly fishing grew out of the Industrial Revolution. Before 1850, most fishing was for subsistence rather than recreation. But soon after the Civil War, American society embraced industrialization. The industrial growth that added dirt, noise, and crowds to the big cities also brought increasing wealth and the leisure to escape these harassments.

Fly fishing gained momentum as newly-moneyed urban industrialists, using English angling techniques and equipment, spread out from New York and other eastern cities in search of the “boss” trouting waters, and the Beaverkill River was perceived as the bossiest.

Over the years between 1865 and 1915, the Beaverkill and its sister streams were the setting for a series of angling innovations that led to a distinctly American style of fly fishing. Legendary Catskill angler Theodore Gordon designed original American dry-fly (floating) patterns based on English models. Edward Ringwood Hewitt, a member of New York’s Cooper-Hewitt families, devoted his life to “making better trout fishing” through experiments in trout hatchery science and physical changes within the river to improve its qualities as a trout habitat.

As a result of the intensified interest in Catskill rivers, absentee owners began replacing local residents on the tax maps. Many of them were wealthy New York City fishermen who bought their own mountain retreats and private trout preserves.

In addition to single-owner estates, groups of wealthy anglers began forming clubs in the Catskills shortly after the railroads opened up the region. These “club corporations,” established under New York State law, had the right to issue stock, contract debt, limit liability and, in particular, own river mileage and fishing rights.

Salmo Fontinalis, founded in 1873 near the valley’s head, was the first of the Catskill stream clubs. It was followed by the Balsam Lake Club (1883), the Fly Fishers Club of Brooklyn (1895), and the Beaverkill Trout Club (1910). Others came and disappeared, but those four early clubs are still alive, protecting their stretches of the river, their fishing, and the surrounding expanses of land.

Much credit for preserving the wilderness character of the valley also goes to the hunting clubs established generations ago by local residents. These groups held large tracts of the ridge lines, hollows, and higher elevations. Conservation-minded fathers passed along to sons the values of wildlife management and respect for the woods.

New York State also took part in keeping the valley pristine, while at the same time making its land and waters more accessible to public usage. The state’s Catskill Forest Preserve got its start in 1885 when it acquired a huge tract of abandoned acreage in Ulster County. Since then, the state has acquired many more acres, designating most of them “forever wild,” and developing some as public campsites.

An unspoiled river valley that has survived so close to its original state is, nonetheless, always a fragile resource. John Adams, an environmental lawyer who grew up in the Catskills and has a weekend home in the Beaverkill Valley, says, “The beautiful characteristics that are still preserved in this valley have disappeared throughout much of rural America due to economic motives. Most people who need money and who own a subdividable piece of property will subdivide it.” Adams had bought a 150-year-old farmhouse and began inviting city friends to visit. Many loved what they saw and became landowners themselves.

When you think about what might befall a beautiful natural resource like Beaverkill Valley, it all comes down to choices about land. “We have seen land use changing dramatically in so many places,” says Adams. “In many areas in New York and other states, when preservation of open spaces became a concern, it was already too late. The land values and ownership patterns had changed. Here, we can keep this valley a very special place for outdoor recreation, where you can hike, ski, fish, and enjoy the attractions of a wilderness area.” Adams is the Chairman of the Board of Open Space Institute, an organization that works with individuals and the state to preserve open spaces. OSI has worked closely with New York State to preserve large tracts of land in the Beaverkill, such as the former Boy Scout properties, Huggins Pond and Beech Mountain.

How close the valley came to going the other way can be illustrated through the experience of Larry Rockefeller, son of the late Laurence S. Rockefeller and nephew of the late New York governor, Nelson A. Rockefeller. Larry Rockefeller, also an environmental lawyer, first visited the valley in 1976. Within a year or two, he bought a farm that had been in one family for several generations. Bob Barnhart, the seller, had turned down several offers in order to find a buyer who would keep it the way it had been when his father and grandfather farmed it in the 1800s.

One day, Rockefeller was walking in a meadow at the top of his new farm and discovered three separate subdivision projects that together contained 115 parcels for sale. One large open meadow, visible from the road had been divided into dozens of small plots, many of which had already been sold. “It was clear that this was just the beginning of a wave that was going to roll through the valley,” he says. Over the next five years, he was able to acquire the 115 parcels as well as other properties situated between the river and the ridge lines. He removed trailers and shacks that had belonged mostly to non-residents, many of whom were deer hunters using them for the three-week winter hunting season.

Knowing he couldn’t buy and donate land to the state on a scale large enough to make a real difference, Rockefeller developed a strategy to protect the valley based on the idea of land trusts. Essentially, land is acquired and then resold with restrictions that forbid further subdivision, and the proceeds are used to acquire more land. “The trade-off is that there is some development beyond an uninhabited wilderness,” he explains, “but with limits on where buildings are sited, their color and size, and other controls to preserve the peace, quiet, and aesthetic qualities of the valley.”

Rockefeller built trails, access roads and bridges, and provided water and electricity to his newly-arriving Beaverkill Falls homeowners. At the same time that he was buying the land, he was developing an interest in local traditions. He bought the Bonnie View Inn, erected in 1893, and turned it into the Beaverkill Valley Inn, preserving its Catskill-style architecture. His other undertakings include many miles of new hiking and cross-country skiing trails; stream improvements such as current deflectors and strategically placed boulders that improve the trout fishing and, through financial contributions and his own improvements, a new look for the valley’s only village, Lew Beach.

The reasons we all wanted to settle in the Beaverkill Valley are clear. Besides fishing, hiking and skiing, there are the birds: eagles, ospreys, herons, pileated woodpeckers, hawks, and chickadees. A few years ago, wild turkeys were hatched within sight of our porch. Black bears are on the increase. We have bobcats, coyotes, and, who knows, maybe someday the mountain lions will come back (there are already a few reported sightings). The late Vic Norton, a former member of the Beaverkill Trout Club, took two seasons away from his fishing to photograph and catalog over 200 kinds of wildflowers that grow along the stream. My wife, Ross, and John Adams’ wife, Patricia, grow countless vegetables in a garden next to the Adams’ house. You can build a log cabin, a stone wall, keep honeybees, or boil Maple sap for the syrup. You can ski, as I did, down the center of the river in mid-winter, while it is frozen and blanketed with snow, while the setting sun turns it gradually from white to pink, to bluish red, then a deep, ghostly purple.

Many of these activities are appreciated best when you experience them alone. Ours is a valley of remote quiet and solitude. It is nearly as it was when our Indian forerunners hunted there. If you take the time and are very still, you might be able to feel the presence of the Great Spirit.

Map from the summer issue of Countryside Magazine 1990 Enlargement