I went to Devil's Tombstone seeking not the prince of darkness, but that primitive simplicity where a man might live deliberately and front only the essentials of life. What I found in these Catskill highlands is a sanctuary carved into the ancient rock, where the air smells of pine and old granite, and where this hurried, city beaten traveler may pause to ask if he lives by his own constitution or by the demands of work and of the crowds.
Here, a great stone stands, massive and slightly erratic bearing a tablet that marks a century of the New York State Forest Preserve. It reminds us that these surrounding mountains, streams, and woodlands remain a legacy protected by constitutional decree.
Its gor us and needs to be preserved not for internet observation, but to ensure that future generations might still encounter wildness uncorrupted.
The campground itself is stripped of luxuries offering only what is necessary. A patch of green, the shade of hardwoods, a rustic wooden table, a grill and steady company of my dog and of the the hills. Listen to the murmur of leaves and the quiet breathing of the woods.
To camp at Devil's Tombstone is to take a brief leave of absence from the desperate hustle of city living. It is a place to boil a simple pot of beans, trace the lichen on ancient boulders, and reflect on the true economy of existence.
For the wanderer who desires solitude over comfort and mountain air over urban parlor games, this notch in the hills is a noble retreat. read more
