Dead Horse Bay
You’ll have to thank George Takei for introducing me (indirectly) to this place. His Facebook page led me to a link on Guff.com titled “15 Secret or Easy Things to Miss in New York City.” I’ve always had a humongous curiosity for the unknown or hard-to-get-to, especially in New York City. When I was reading the article, I thought about the time when I found out about the old City Hall Station (which the 6 train passes through to switch from the downtown side to the uptown side) after interesting research about “secret” abandoned subway stations. Seeing the old City Hall station was so exciting for me; it felt like I was time traveling. I wanted another experience like that, so I decided to do more research about hidden, lesser known, or secret gems in New York City. I found several lists of these sorts of places. They included places like The Campbell Apartment, the train platform under the Waldorf-Astoria (that FDR used every time he came to NYC), the fake house in Brooklyn Heights (used as a subway ventilator), and Dead Horse Bay. Dead Horse Bay is SUPER unknown, primarily because of its isolated location. After reading about its history and unique (and delightfully creepy) qualities, I knew I had to plan a visit (or several visits).
Its name dates back to the events of the 1850s (through the 1920s). From the New York Times: “Dead Horse Bay sits at the western edge of a marshland once dotted by more than two dozen horse-rendering plants, fish oil factories and garbage incinerators.” The factories and plants dumped all of their used horse carcasses into the bay. Horse bones still wash ashore, along with old trash. The bay, during this era, was used also as a landfill, which was capped in the 1930s. The caps on the trash burst in the 1950s, so junk has been leaking onto the beach ever since.
Well, that sealed it (pun not intended) – secretive, historical, AND inundated with old trash? Well, I just had to go. That being said, in regards to the question about me being an insider or outsider: I would say I’m both. Obviously, I’m alive, and the communities that produced this trash are dead. That’s definitely a key contrast. But I’m a consumer, I definitely throw things out, and I am a part of American culture. Those parts of me (in addition to the mystery addict part) are probably what piqued my interest about and drew my to this location.
The first day I went was a cold and rainy one. I was with three other friends (God bless these people for actually going along with my craziness), and, needless to say, I was the only person truly excited to be going. We took an obscure bus to this equally obscure place, and entered a path that truly felt illegal (even though it wasn’t). The preliminary path led up to three separate ones, all leading to different parts of the Bay. We took the right-most one. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the trail leading up to the beach was breathtakingly beautiful. I’ll forgo my descriptive abilities and include pictures of it in my presentation so you can see the nature yourself.
The first visit was purely for scoping out everything and making mental observations. I wanted to see the items there, and categorize them so I could improve my collecting during the second visit. I took most of my pictures on this day. I also just wanted to have time to explore without worrying about collecting for the project all of the time. The second time I visited the bay (also with a slightly begrudging friend) I had my microscope eyes on, so I could bag the interesting and striking pieces I found. I’m bringing all of the items I collected to class in Ziploc bags (I sanitized them all, too) so people can experience them tactilely.
I discovered some really beautiful pieces- hand-painted metal toys (a few of which I brought to class), old ads, and house furnishings. Everything was made in the USA, and of extraordinarily good quality. A lot of these objects, after being kept in the least preserving conditions for over one hundred years, were still intact, vastly unblemished, and/or sturdy. This is why I consider this trash to be art- most of the pieces were crafted with quality and beauty in mind, before the majority of American companies were outsourced to poorer countries (in the monetary interest of those wealthy CEOs and other executives). Of course, the people of the late 19th century and early 20th century did not have this knowledge, so they “wasted.” They threw out beautiful and still-working items, especially toys and bottles (of course, using bottles for anything other than drinking was just not heard of). To them, though, they were only throwing the bottles, toys, ads, etc. out when they thought the objects had absolutely no use anymore.
I also, discovered, apparently, a newly classified rock type there. At the beginning of the latest National Geographic issue, I read about a kind of rock called a “plastiglomerate.” This is a rock composed of earth, sand, and debris. Though repulsive in appearance, this type of rock “could serve as markers of…civilization” according to sedimentologist Patricia Corcoran. Dead Horse Bay is home to this type of rock in areas where the sea crashes up on the land repeatedly. I included pictures of these Dead Horse Bay plastiglomerates, and you can see the unique melding of plastic, glass, rock, sand, and everything else.
I reaffirmed my romanticism and desire for adventure during both trips. As soon as I stepped onto the first path, I’m telling you, I was blissful. My friends were worried for me because I wouldn’t talk to them, and I was over-the-top excited. The extreme isolation of the location made me feel as if I could time travel, that I could forget the highway parallel to the ocean (as a writer and peace-seeker, I am always looking for accessible, beautiful, and quiet parts of the city). It was a place that fed my anachronism and created an intimacy with people I had never met.
Other than my lack of time machine, no other limitations existed in my trips. I was free to observe, photograph, and collect as I pleased. The three diverging paths allowed me to traverse the curve of the beach and satisfied my exploratory urges. I’d just like to go back there again and again. Unfortunately, Dead Horse Bay is a 90-minute commute from my house (though a 40-minute bus ride from Brooklyn College), so I only have the option, really, to travel there on special occasions. I wouldn’t go back to collect, though (unless I saw a really pretty bottle I could use as a vase or candle holder). I would write, and think there. If I really wanted to go all out, I would bring a chair, blanket, thermos, lunch, and several books to fulfill my romantic fantasy. If the other visitors look at me strangely, so what? Places like these keep me sane.