There once was a time when the location of “the ol’ swimmin’ hole” was intelligence shared among locals by word-of-mouth alone. Since mass media took over – and especially the rise of the Internet – usage of such treasured spots has increased radically, bringing with it negative effects that in some cases have led to closure. The Town of Woodstock officially closed Big Deep and Little Deep on the Saw Kill in 2020, when tourism by City-dwellers spiked in response to the COVID pandemic and the amount of trash left behind became too overwhelming for the municipal government to handle. Big Deep has since reopened and is “packed every weekend,” according to HV1’s Woodstock correspondent Nick Henderson.
Peekamoose Blue Hole experienced similar issues as early as 2014, when its appearance in a national magazine article inflated daily visitation from the low hundreds to nearly 2,000 practically overnight. This caused major problems with roadside parking, which the Town of Denning was unable to control by issuing tickets. Since Blue Hole is located within state parkland, the Department of Environmental Conservation was able to step in, instituting a permit system in 2018 that caps daily usage at 240. Site conditions have reportedly improved dramatically.
Folks who lived in or near New Paltz in the 1970s may remember the heyday of skinny-dipping spots throughout the Shawangunks. Locals would hang out naked, picnic, strum guitars quietly and even bring their small children. Women could swim and sunbathe without getting hit on constantly. This fragile culture of safe, desexualized, family-friendly group nudity was shattered when Playboy magazine put Smitty’s – a beloved streamside bar on Clove Road – on a “Ten Best Nude Swimming Destinations” list. Before long, horny readers were coming from near and far to gawk at the naked “hippie chicks.” Women stopped feeling safe at Smitty’s, Dallas Pool a/k/a Secret Spot, Low Falls, the Sliding Rock on the Coxing Kill and a host of other former skinny-dipping havens, so they stopped going. It was the sad end of an innocent era. Nudity is now officially prohibited in both Minnewaska State Park and the Mohonk Preserve, and swimming of any kind is limited to a few spots where lifeguards are on duty.
Even swimming locales where users have traditionally kept their suits on have felt the pressure of being easy to find nowadays via Google Maps, GPS and a variety of tourism websites and apps. There’s still some resistance on social media to divulging the location of your favorite cooling-off destination, even after you’ve posted enticing photos of it in a Facebook group. But, as with so many other aspects of modern life, the ubiquity of electronic gadgets capable of gathering data (with or without our consent) has meant having to bid any hope of secrecy farewell. Want to take a dip wherever it is you’re traveling? There’s an app for that. For better or worse, you no longer need to ply locals with drinks to find out where they go to swim.
One much-loved dipping destination in Ulster County has just come under the protection of a new not-for-profit group, called Deep Hole Nature Sanctuary. Despite what those swimming-hole locater apps may claim, Deep Hole in the Town of Rochester is not state parkland. It’s privately owned, which means that nobody is going to clean up your mess when you go there, except for a small cadre of dedicated community stewards. They’re now seeking donations to offset the costs of keeping this local treasure open to the general public.
Located on Tow Path Road in Accord, on the western flanks of the Shawangunks not far from the Alligerville hamlet, Deep Hole is a spot where the Peters Kill has gouged out a sizable pool at the foot of a small, sloping cascade. It’s about eight feet deep, meaning that one can safely do a surface dive into it; and it’s broad enough that you can actually take more than a few strokes to swim across it. There are plenty of flat rocks on either side of the stream where one can sunbathe, and other spots nearer the footpath that can accommodate lawn chairs and strollers. While not handicapped-accessible by any means – snug-fitting water shoes are advisable for rock-hopping – it’s a place where entire families have been coming for generations.
As with many such spots, too much love has become Deep Hole’s problem over time. It doesn’t help that the swimming hole is close to the road and clearly visible. Even before it started getting listed on websites, Deep Hole was suffering from overuse. Parking along the narrow road caused concern to Town of Rochester officials that emergency vehicles might not be able to get through in the event of a house fire, and a total parking ban was considered in 2018. “Kids were darting into traffic from between the cars,” recalls Dan Getman, who organized a group of his friends to assume stewardship of the property. “People would sit in their cars blaring radios.”
A Midwesterner by birth, Getman “came to the Hudson Valley in 1984 for school. I found my way to New Paltz and raised a family. I moved to Accord about ten years ago.” His home is not far from Tow Path Road, so he quickly became aware of Deep Hole and the issues surrounding its overuse. “The Hole has been a constant presence. There were people trying to take care of it, and there were people simultaneously trashing it.”
That “trashing” took the form of decades’ worth of accumulated garbage, dog feces, broken glass all over the rocks. Dog fights were common. People played their radios on high volume, brought barbecue grills and built fires. “There was even a big old stuffed couch left there for a number of months,” says Getman. “It was zooey and a mess.”
Yet Deep Hole retained much of its natural beauty and a fond place in the hearts of local residents. “Part of its special vibe was that it was a kind of benign neglect. It was a ‘Take a dip in the water and then go on your way’ kind of place,” Getman says. “I kept hearing about people who got married there. Kids from Rondout Valley High School would come out there after school and hang out.” Conditions worsened when an absentee owner came into the picture, however. “It was owned by a woman in Australia who was heir to the land. The Town was trying to reach her and they weren’t getting through.”
In 2021, the owner finally put the parcel on the market, and Getman decided to intervene to rescue Deep Hole as a public resource. “I went through a little bit of soul-searching about whether this was a hornets’ nest I wanted to take on,” he admits. But with encouragement from a group of local friends who cared about the place, he took the plunge and bought it, along with a parcel diagonally across the road that was big enough to create a parking lot. With the Town’s blessing, the new group of stewards shifted boulders into the spots along the roadside where swimmers used to park, and built a lot that can now accommodate about 30 cars. “We changed the energy last year with that parking lot,” he says.
Besides putting in countless hours cleaning up the site, Getman and his group also convened to create a vision for Deep Hole and draw up a set of regulations for its use and maintenance that would “not create a Draconian vibe… It was an exercise in how to think about rules in a deeper way – to welcome people into a relationship with Deep Hole and each other.”
Those like-minded friends went on to form the board of advisors of Deep Hole Nature Sanctuary, Inc., which was granted its 501 (c) (3) not-for-profit status just a couple of months ago. The list of rules – which they prefer to call “agreements” – is now posted on signs at the parking lot and the entrances to the site, under the heading, “All who enter here agree to leave no trace and be a steward of this cherished place.”
Safety, cleanliness and quiet are the paramount concerns. Among the prohibited activities and contraband items are littering, cooking, alcohol, glass, tents, bug spray or sunscreen in the water, fishing, hunting, guns, recorded music or generators. Dogs are welcome only before 10 a.m. or after 6 p.m., and their poop must be cleaned up and carried out. (Humans aren’t allowed to poop here, either, though you can pee 300 feet or more away from the watercourse.)
Perhaps surprisingly to some who preach the “leave no trace” wilderness ethic, small stone and twig sculptures are not forbidden at Deep Hole. You can stack flat rocks and bring your littles to make fairy houses here. Flotation devices are also tolerated; the downstream end of the pool is so shallow that there’s no danger of kids being borne off into perilous whitewater.
Deep Hole doesn’t have a lifeguard, ranger or parking attendant on duty at all times, so compliance with these agreements is voluntary – a matter mostly of education. Board members and other volunteer stewards typically stop in daily to note any problems developing, and you can contact them by e-mail if you spot any dangerous behavior or vandalism. Getman and friends hope to foster a sense of shared stewardship by appealing to users’ better natures.
Even with maximum cooperation from grateful visitors, keeping Deep Hole clean, safe and beautiful over the years is going to require many hours of volunteer labor and a budget for maintenance. Future improvements, such as the installation of composting toilets, are also being envisioned. Thus, the conservancy is seeking donations, at a suggested rate of $10 per user and $5 for each visit to the parking lot. To learn how you can help keep this “very special spot” open to the public, visit www.deepholekeepers.org.
Join the family! 
