Every now and then, someone new to Esopus might ask why the water of Black Creek is so dark. But locals never give a direct answer. Instead, they offer vague responses, or change the subject altogether, as if it’s a conversation that doesn’t need to be had. But this is my story—the story they tried to hide. And now that you’ve found it, it’s your responsibility to share it with the people of this land.
I returned to Esopus after years away. The town where I once knew peace and simplicity in my youth now feels strangely heavy. I’m searching for something I can’t name, and I had hoped this old place, with its stone buildings and peaceful riverbanks, might offer me answers. But there is one thing that hasn’t changed: Black Creek. It’s the same creek from my youth—a spot full of memories, a place I thought I knew. It’s strange, unnatural darkness still runs through the town like a pulse, untouched by time. No one talks about it. It’s there, but no one dares to acknowledge it, as if it’s something we all agreed to ignore. It’s like visiting a Civil War fort, watching children play pretend while families learn history. But one day, a young man stood in that very place, weeping at the memory of his home, as if caught in an eternal feeling battle—time is funny that way.
One night, unable to sleep, I decided to take a walk by the creek. The evening was still—so still it felt heavy. The air had that metallic taste that makes you think it might snow. I approached the water and froze. There, sitting on a rock by the creek, was an old man. His clothes were faded and weathered—like he’d lived a hundred years in that one spot. His name was Yohan. At first, seeing him there felt… wrong. There’s never anyone there by the creek. Not even during the day. The place was empty, eerie, but somehow, there he was. My instincts told me to walk away, but for some reason, I didn’t. The man was familiar, though I couldn’t place him. His eyes carried an ancient sadness, and his voice, when he spoke, was like a riddle—a voice both haunting and strangely calming. “Used to be the creek was clear,” he said, his words flowing slowly, like he was speaking of a lost memory. “When I was a boy, you could see the fish swimming beneath it. But then, they came. The people. They didn’t see what they were doing—or maybe they didn’t care.”
I stood there, listening, trying to make sense of his words. “The water was never meant to be black,” Yohan continued. “Once, it was as clear as the truth people knew but forgot. This creek reflects the town. What’s beneath the surface can only be hidden for so long.” I asked, “Why is it black then?” The old man smiles slowly, the kind of smile that sends a shiver down the spine and sends the body into fight or flight mode, but as I looked into the old man’s eyes, they appeared calming and welcoming, an incredible mix of emotions on his face. He answered slowly, his words were steady, like they’d been rehearsed. “Because people have forgotten what they’ve done. And what they’ve left undone.”
He began to tell me the history of the town—a place that once held hope and promise. But over time, the people became consumed with desire—desire for power, wealth, and prestige. It didn’t start maliciously. They wanted to improve their lives, but they lost their way. Slowly, they sacrificed their integrity, and little by little, the good things they had were poisoned by greed and pride. “There was once a man, a traveler much like you. He came to Esopus many years ago, a man of wisdom. Not the kind of wisdom most people understand. He didn’t speak of ideas but of choices. He warned the people that their thirst for more had already touched the creek.”
Yohan’s voice grew solemn, almost mournful. “The creek was always meant to reflect what was inside them. The people tried to ignore it, but the darkness only grew.” I stood, listening, I couldn’t wrap my mind around what he was saying. This old man, sitting by the creek at night, talking about… sins, about the town’s forgotten wrongs? I almost laughed, but there was something in his gaze that made me hesitate. He wasn’t like the usual old men who mutter cryptic things by the creek. This was different. Yohan kept talking about the town’s history and I kept listening—how their pride and greed seeped into the creek, how the water turned black. And somehow, the blackness spread. Not just in the creek, but to the river. It poisoned the land, the people, the air. He said that’s why they built the Ashokan Reservoir, to try and fix the problem. But in doing so, they destroyed the Ashokan community—drowned their way of life just to keep the water clean. I didn’t know what to think. It sounded insane. I looked away, not sure if I should strike or run. This guy was clearly losing it. But then he said something that stopped me dead in my tracks. “You wouldn’t know it, boy, but I remember your grandfather. He used to bring you down here to skip stones, remember? He’d always say, ‘One day, the creek will remember what we’ve done to it, and it’ll want answers.’” My heart dropped. This old man knew my grandfather? And he remembered me as a kid? I hadn’t even remembered my grandfather saying that. “There’s a reason I speak to you,” Yohan said, his voice soft, almost mournful. “Your memories are made here. From Aunt Sally’s Garden to your first date with little Susie, they’re all tied to this creek.” I backed away, unnerved. This was getting too weird. Too real. Yohan’s voice dropped, like he was speaking a secret only the creek could understand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken the truth. Long before the flood, I watched it all unfold. I was there when the first stone was thrown. But they all forgot. They forgot what they did. And now, they want answers.” I asked in a whisper, more to myself than to him, “Who are you?” Yohan didn’t hesitate. He looked at me with a sorrow that felt older than the creek itself. “I am the one to make sure you remembered.” His voice hardened. “I was the one who stood by while the town chose darkness, I could of cleaned it. But you didn’t notice. None of you noticed. Now, you’re here to reckon with it. You, and the ones who come after you.” I shook my head in disbelief, I still lacked understanding and asked, “So all of this… the flood, the reservoir, the creek—it’s your fault?” Yohan’s expression flickered, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Anything but you, right? He stepped closer, his presence like a weight pressing down. “It’s your fault. Yours, and all those who followed. It started with the little things—the choices that seemed harmless. And now look at what it’s become.” I felt the weight of his words hit me. It wasn’t just about the creek—it was about everything. The past, the present, the future. The old man didn’t have the answers I wanted—he was showing me that I was part of the problem, perhaps this was the answer. Finally, after a long silence, Yohan spoke, his voice calm but cutting. “The question isn’t why I allowed it. The question is why you let it happen in the first place, and how can we be sure this won’t happen again?” With those words, he vanished into the night, just like that. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone. The creek remained, still, the water as dark as ever. I stood there, feeling the weight of his words settle into my bones. I knew it was not over. There is hope. Hope that u will change your ways, hope that you will clear the waters.
Pilgrims Ponder 
22 responses to “Why black creek is black.”
Actions can heal or destroy.
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This is a wonderfully, engaging and meaningful story.
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Thank you, I’m very glad you enjoyed it.
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Quickly looking at your name I couldn’t resist to think of Great originator of Suspense thrill detective fiction Arthur Connan Doyle … thanks for being here.
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I read a bit about the Esopus River and how it became polluted as timber was cut, tanneries built, people exploited the land for profit, etc. I also read that the Ashokan was built to provide water for NYC. Was there a town that was submerged by the reservoir? Is this a folklore type story or based on history? Guess I’m a little unclear as to what made the river black and the role of the reservoir…
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Thank you so much for this thoughtful comment! I’m thrilled that my post intrigued you enough to do some research. Let me try to clear up some of your questions.
First, the Esopus Creek and Black Creek are indeed different waterways, which can be a bit confusing. The Esopus Creek runs through the Catskill Mountains and flows into the Hudson River at Saugerties, NY. Meanwhile, Black Creek is a much smaller waterway that passes through the Black Creek Preserve and the town of Esopus, located about 30 miles south of Saugerties, before it also empties into the Hudson River.
Regarding the Ashokan Reservoir, you’re absolutely correct—it was built between 1907 and 1915 to provide drinking water for New York City. Its construction required the displacement of thousands of people and the relocation of entire towns, including West Shokan. The reservoir’s construction displaced thousands of people an destroyed hundreds of buildings.
As for Black Creek’s name and the legend behind it, this is where my storytelling comes in! My tale about Black Creek being “black” due to the moral failings of the townspeople and their responsibility to make the water clear again is meant to be a folklore-inspired story that tweaks and builds upon historical truths. In the story, the flooding and pollution are metaphors for the consequences of poor moral choices and the need for redemption. The legend revolves around Yohan, a figure who could have stopped the destruction but didn’t, leaving the people of Esopus to grapple with their actions and strive to become moral citizens. The message is that the clarity of Black Creek reflects the collective moral actions of the community—it’s a lesson about accountability and transformation. Thank you again for engaging so deeply with this! I love blending history and imagination to create stories that inspire reflection. I hope this clears things up a bit and gives you more insight into both the history and the folklore I’m weaving!
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Ah, I see! Thanks for clearing that up… great way to weave history and a moral lesson together 😎
It’s cool bc just 2-3 days ago I posted an article that mentioned the Ashokan reservoir. My dad worked at IBM in Kingston and we moved to Florida when I was 9. But we used to go to Saugerties all the time as well as Woodstock, Phoenicia, etc. It’s here if you’re interested: https://neptunesky.com/2024/12/05/the-summit/
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That’s great—thank you for sharing! I really enjoyed reading your article; it was a fantastic read. I’m currently working on a book of stories where I weave together history and folklore to answer many of the questions and mysteries of the Hudson Valley. The part you mentioned about the Overlook Hotel and the “suspicious fire” really sparked an idea for me—this region is so rich with history and intrigue! I was actually born in the Hudson Valley, and my family has lived here since the early 1700s, so it’s a place that holds a special place in my heart. Thanks again for sharing your work; it’s inspiring to see others appreciating and exploring the area’s stories and mysteries too!
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Thanks! Yes , that whole are is an undiscovered gem. Well, kinda undiscovered … the gentrification of wealthy NYC folks moving in and ruining it is a drag… but all the remnants of the stone pasture walls in the woods… the beauty of places like the sawkill creek (that’s a future blog… I flopped in during the spring melt when it was high and almost drowned)… the mountains everywhere… it’s so cool.
I think a book about that area would be engrossing! Google pix of abandoned hotels in the Catskills that… until the 70s…were like from “Dirty Dancing.” The images tell a story. Also, here’s one more if my own stories that might pique your interest and give your book another chapter 😎 https://neptunesky.com/2024/03/14/mountain-flight/
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Dear Pilgrim,
It’s a long time seeing you. Happy I am.
They are such great eye 👁️ openers, your posts. This one too.
You have a pioneer thinking process.
I express my heartfelt gratitude for your liking of my post on Stage 🥰❤️💓♥️🌿🌼💕
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Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement! It brings me great joy to know that my posts resonate with you and serve as “eye openers.” Your words about having a “pioneer thinking process” truly mean a lot to me—I strive to offer fresh perspectives that can inspire and challenge. I also deeply appreciate your heartfelt gratitude and am so glad we can connect through our shared passion for writing and reflection. God bless!
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well shared
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Amazing indeed. I’ve never been this captivated.
Hands off on this one.
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Thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoyed it.
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I can’t tell you how grateful I am you stopped by my place today and left a little trail back to your place. At first, your story reminded me of a song from my first voice jury at college called “The Singer”. “His eyes were gray and far away…his cap was torn, his shoes were worn, and his voice went following after…”. Then my husband came in the backdoor and said it felt like it was going snow. And I wondered if the air had a metallic taste…
And then I became so immersed in your story that I was spellbound. But more than that, there was a deep sense of healing taking place within me after having carried a great burden for long enough. Thank you hardly seems enough to say. But I will start there. Thank you. Deb
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Wow! Thank you so much, Deb. Your comment has left me speechless and deeply moved. Knowing that my story resonated with you on such a profound level fills me with overwhelming gratitude and joy. To hear that it brought back cherished memories, evoked vivid imagery, and even inspired a sense of healing in your heart is more than I ever hoped for when sharing it. Your words remind me why I write. I’m so glad you found solace and beauty in the tale, and I am truly humbled by your response. Thank you for investing your time, your thoughts, and your heart into my story. I feel immensely blessed that it could serve as even a small part of your journey.
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Aww, it’s the most humbling thing to feel one’s been used as a vessel for a message from God. I think perhaps He wanted you to hear those words today, to let you know how pleased he is with your writing…❤️
(I realize now there should be one change to my note. The words to the song aren’t “his voice went following after.” The correct lyrics are “and my eyes went following after.”😍
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I can’t tell you how grateful I am you stopped by my place today and left a little trail back to your place. At first, your story reminded me of a song from my first voice jury at college called “The Singer”. “His eyes were gray and far away…his cap was torn, his shoes were worn, and his voice went following after…”. Then my husband came in the backdoor and said it felt like it was going snow. And I wondered if the air had a metallic taste…
And then I became so immersed in your story that I was spellbound. But more than that, there was a deep sense of healing taking place within me after having carried a great burden for long enough. Thank you hardly seems enough to say. But I will start there. Thank you. Deb
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Time without management taints everything.
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Evertown whirbles with its twinkly wibbler. They shimmer by and snicker what giggles are brewing. They plink next to the babbling brook of zazz and jiggle how other gaggles are flibberty-flooping it. They’re the tallyho twirlers who juggle the jumbles and wiggle if a life is snickered or sprinkled some spiffy sparkles.
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Great storytelling
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Fantástico 💯🧡
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