October in the Catskills
OCTOBER in the Catskill Mountains is a breathtaking celebration of autumn's splendor, where nature's palette transforms the rolling hills into a vivid tapestry of crimson, gold, and fiery orange. The crisp, cool air carries the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke, inviting visitors to explore the winding trails that meander through dense forests and over babbling brooks. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, while panoramic vistas from rocky overlooks reveal valleys awash in seasonal brilliance. In every corner, October in the Catskills whispers the magic of change and renewal, drawing in hikers, leaf-peepers, and dreamers alike.
These mountains are familiar and comforting—a safe place. They offer the same warm feeling one gets from visiting an old friend after a long time apart. There’s a tranquility here that’s hard to put into words. For my wife, Lauren and me, although we knew the drive by heart, where we would eat, and what we might do once we arrived, this visit felt different. It marked the beginning of a new chapter—one where the three of us would navigate this rugged landscape as a family.
We found out roughly six months earlier that we were expecting a child in late autumn of that same year. The rest of the spring and summer became a blur of work and preparation. Of course, we felt compelled to take one last trip upstate as a sort of "babymoon."
The second week of October promised to be temperate but rainy. As we wound our way through the Delaware Water Gap and into New York State, the cloud cover thickened, and tiny pellets of precipitation began to fall on the windshield. We had our dog, Chase, in the back, who matched the mood perfectly by curling up into a small circle in his blankets as if to hibernate. The vibe was palpable and serene with overtones of great anticipation.
For this trip, we decided to stay in Phoenicia, a small, sleepy town in the heart of the mountains we had both passed through but never truly explored. On the advice of a friend, we booked a stay at a remodeled roadside motel called The Graham & Co. It was quiet and quaint, and the grounds smelled of wood smoke and sugar maples. The rooms were modest, but there were only a couple options accommodating to Chase. It was all that we needed though, and we were comfortable. The lack of cell service was more than welcomed.
One of my goals for the trip was to shoot some maternity photos of Lauren and I to commemorate the impending arrival of our son. For this, I would need two cameras: my Sony a7R IV, a digital workhorse, and my beloved Pentax 67ii, a medium-format analog titan. I packed a sturdy tripod to mount them on, and with that, we were off to the races.
For film, I brought the last two rolls of Kodak Aerochrome hidden deep in the back of my freezer, two rolls of Lomochrome Purple, and two rolls of Ilford HP5 for some portraits. Regrettably, the Aerochrome was a somewhat forced and costly mistake—honestly, a commercial failure. Despite all my research, that film is extremely finicky and nearly impossible to predict in the moment. It was also well past its expiration date.
The Lomochrome Purple, on the other hand, is quickly becoming one of my favorite alternative film stocks. It reacted gloriously to the subdued light, really showcasing the quality of the Pentax body and glass. As for Ilford HP5, it’s simply timeless and never fails to impress me.
We went up with some potential shooting locations in mind, but most of them materialized organically. The first—and probably our favorite—took us north to Greene County, to a hidden gem aptly called Artist Falls. A serene cascade below a covered bridge tumbles over moss-covered rocks, creating a breathtaking scene. A perfect place to load up the Aerochrome, right? Wrong.
This highly sensitive film transforms plant-based materials in unexpected ways–which is the point. What I didn’t take into account was the clothing we were wearing. Natural fabrics like cotton and linen, derived from organic fibers, reflect infrared light much like living foliage, often shifting into vivid shades of red, pink, or magenta. In this case, we ended up looking like Mr. and Mrs. Claus—our beautifully contrasting black-and-white (cotton) clothing turned bright red. This would be the case from there on out.
Next, we traveled west toward Hunter, passing through North-South Lake before ascending a fire road to the Catskill Mountain House Overlook. By now, the weather had taken a turn for the worse—the wind had strengthened to a concerning level, the temperature had plummeted, and the rain had turned to sleet. Upon reaching the clearing where the grand hotel once stood—three stories tall and perched high above the rolling expanse of the Hudson Valley—we were greeted by a view that felt almost otherworldly: a vast, sweeping panorama where the sky stretched endlessly, and the land below unfolded like a painted tapestry of crimson and amber.
The ever-present wind made for a challenging setup, but it also lent itself to usher in fleeting bursts of golden light. The sun waged its battle with swift, dramatic turns. Then, as if nature itself had exhaled, the rain softened, the winds eased, and a glorious arc of color unfurled over the valley below. It was in this moment that I achieved the strongest images of the trip. This moment felt serendipitous and anticipated all at once.
Once we got back to the car, we wound our way through North-South Lake again, but this time, we were greeted by incredible views of its glassy surface mirroring the golden sky. The thirty-minute drive west through Tannersville and Chichester was peaceful, the fading light casting a warm glow over the landscape. In the back seat, Chase—exhausted from the hike and the day’s weather—was curled up, sound asleep.
That evening would be the last of our trip. We decided to head into Phoenicia for dinner and found a great spot called Brios. The pizza and pasta were generous and delicious, and the restaurant was staffed by the kind of eccentric characters you’d expect to find in a little mountain town upstate. I give anyone credit who can live and thrive in a remote, unpopulated area year-round, and I like to think I could be one of them.
Sometimes I catch myself day dreaming about moving here where the wind hums through towering pines and the rivers carve their ancient melodies into stone, an artist’s life unfolds in quiet reverence. Mornings begin with the soft glow of dawn filtering through mist-laden treetops, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in hand as inspiration stirs with the rising sun. The studio—perhaps a rustic cabin or a sun-drenched loft—sits nestled among the trees, its windows framing an ever-changing masterpiece of seasons. Here, the days are unhurried, measured not by ticking clocks but by the rhythm of shutters clicking, the scratch of a pen against paper, or the chisel shaping wood into form. For now that’s just a dream–and with it, complimented by crackling ambience of a wood burning stove, came sleep.
The next morning, we woke at our leisure and began packing the car for the journey home, but not before making one final stop. While researching, I came across a wooded garden property in Tannersville, NY, called Mountain Top Arboretum. It was a little out of our way, but despite the chilly air, the morning was pleasant, and we were in no rush to get home.
Upon arrival, we immediately sensed the expansiveness of the property. There were only one or two areas where Chase was allowed, so that’s where we began. First, we explored the East Meadow, a 10-acre landscape of mowed paths and boardwalks winding through wild blueberry thickets, an old pine allée, a newly planted American hedgerow, a wetland teeming with wild asters and spiraea, and a historic pump house. It was a beautiful walk, but I found myself struggling to stage the perfect shot. Sometimes, when I’m unfamiliar with a place and too fixated on finding the ideal scene, I forget to simply live in the moment and take it all in. We eventually settled on a simple dirt path flanked by vibrant foliage and I think I worked out very well.
On our way back out, we took a detour into Spruce Glen, following a boardwalk through the tall grasses and bogs of the area. Chase led the way through the sprawling marsh until we emerged back where we started. With that, we returned to the car and began the journey home—but not without one obligatory stop in Woodstock.
Woodstock, NY, is a town made famous by the legendary 1969 rock festival, even though the event actually took place in nearby Bethel. Somehow, Woodstock took the credit, and to this day, it thrives on tourism tied to that legacy. Despite the hype, we truly love it there and always make a point to stop by for its quaint shops and inviting cafés. Since it was getting a little later in the afternoon, We picked up some provisions for the road at a local grocery store, grabbed some slices at the Catskill Mountain Pizza Company and said goodbye—for now—to a place we hold near to our hearts. Tomorrow, it was back to work and anxiously preparing for the arrival of Charlie James.
