ROCKS STATE PARK

Rocks State Park is somewhat of a drive from the city, in northern Harford County, but it is absolutely, positively worth the trip. The entire park, which meanders along tranquil Deer Creek, is basically a series of swimming holes, one right after the other. On warm weekends, roadways in and near the park are lined with vehicles, and the river is peopled with happy locals swimming and tubing. And by locals, I mean just that: Everyone I’ve talked with during my frequent visits to Rocks has been from the immediate area, while few folks in Baltimore appear to have even heard of the place.

St. Clair Bridge Road, the park’s main artery, follows Deer Creek, and it’s easy to tell where the good swimming spots are located—there are pull-off areas for parking and clear paths down to the water. Some of the deeper swimming holes have rope swings, others offer rocks or ledges for jumping into the water. The Hills Grove and Wilsons picnic areas ($2 per car fee on weekends Memorial Day-Labor Day; free if you park along the road) are ideal for families. There are rest rooms, picnic tables with grills, and playground equipment, as well as easy access to an especially slow and wide portion of Deer Creek with sandy beach areas. (A third area, Rock Ridge, is worth checking out for its easy access to the King and Queen Seat formation, a stunning rock spire that was once a ceremonial gathering place of the Susquehannock Indians. A great, easy side trip). Nearby Rocks Chrome Hill Road is home to the park office. It tracks alongside Knopps Branch, a tributary to Deer Creek, and is home to some very different topography. The water here rushes between large boulders, which form natural chutes and slides. This waterway is more about being manhandled by nature than actual swimming, and though it’s fun, visitors should use caution—the current can be very strong.

FALLING BRANCH

Five miles north lies an adjunct of Rocks State Park, a designated wilderness area known as Falling Branch. I can’t believe I am willing to breathe word of this fantastic place’s existence to people I am related to by blood, much less publish it in the newspaper for perfect strangers to see. But since a major Hollywood movie has already been filmed here (Tuck Everlasting), I’m hardly letting any cats out of bags. Of all the swimming holes I have ever visited this is by far the most wonderful. To reach this heavenly place pilgrims must hike about half a mile, first through open meadowland, then marshy bottomland, and finally deep forest. It’s an easy trail, just long enough to heighten the anticipation of pleasures to come.

The crystalline waters of Falling Branch meander through dramatic rocky ravines, culminating in Kilgore Falls—Maryland’s second-tallest waterfall. The falls tumble into a large natural pool, which seems to be at least 12 feet deep. Deep enough, anyway, for local daredevils to go plunging 30-plus feet off the cliffs surrounding the waterfall, and occasionally the waterfall itself, to land with a terrific splash in the stream below. Beyond the waterfall, Falling Branch gradually widens and becomes shallow enough for pleasant swimming, wading, and play away from the turbulence of the plunge pool, so those of us less willing to risk our lives for fun get to bask in the ambience without being pummeled by the current. There are broad, flat rocks for sunning and picnicking, and the creek is surrounded by open, shady glades. (There are also, alas, caches of snack wrappers and abandoned beer cans about, so be a good citizen and bring a trash bag to cart out your own crap as well as a few bonus items others might have left in this otherwise pristine wild area.) I am absolutely not exaggerating when I say that, on a hot summer day, this place is heaven on earth.

HOBO BEACH

York Road, at Big Gunpowder Falls, Parkton

Though neither the largest nor even most scenic of local swimming holes, Hobo Beach is absolutely the most pleasantly situated. A broad swath of soft green grass, shaded by gigantic walnut trees, slopes gently down to the river’s edge. On sunny afternoons the lawn bustles with picnicking families gathered on blankets and folding chairs overlooking the children splashing in the Gunpowder’s clear, chilly current. The scene is utterly pastoral, reminiscent of a Seurat painting.

This is a popular spot for beginning or ending a tubing trip on the Gunpowder, but it is an admirable swimming hole as well. There is a deep spot across the river from the lawn, with a large rock and rope swing, where adolescent boys spend a lot of time daring each other to jump in. Little kids cluster along the shore, digging in the coarse, gravelly sand and splashing in the shallow, frigid water. Hobo Beach is the coldest swimming spot I have ever experienced; it can be literally painful to step into the river, and on especially torpid days a fog often will hang above the water. Local wisdom holds that the temperature is so cold because nearby Prettyboy Reservoir feeds the Gunpowder Falls and the water is drained from its chill depths. It is also one of the most popular swimming holes around, probably due as much to extreme ease of access as its picturesque setting, which can lead to relatively crowded conditions on summer weekends. (If it’s too crowded here for your taste, backtrack south on York Road to Bunker Hill Road and follow that down into the park; there are a couple of smaller, less known swimming holes right off the parking lot.)

GUYTON ROAD

Guyton and Bottom roads, near Bagley

Like so many locally favored but regionally unknown swimming holes, this wide spot in the Little Gunpowder Falls has no official name; it’s just where folks in the greater Fork/Bagley/Margate area go to swim. This is one of those instant-access spots: The tiny parking area is immediately adjacent to a sandy crescent of shore. The water is much warmer here than at Hobo Beach—shallow Little Falls soaks up the sun much faster than its bigger sibling—and makes for very pleasant swimming. There’s a wide area of ankle-deep water over sand and gravel where kids delight in chasing tiny little fish around. Toward the opposite shore the bottom gradually slopes down to about eight feet deep, perfect for jumping or sliding off of one of the three large boulders that nature has so thoughtfully provided. It’s a fairly remote spot and takes a little finding, but the setting is lovely and a marvelous day could be whiled away here. You’ll likely be joined by only an occasional few other swimmers. Some of the locals claim that there are snakes in the water beyond the rocks, but sometimes I wonder if that’s just a bit of hyperbole to discourage outsiders from flocking to this idyllic spot.

SWEET AIR

Dalton Bevard Road, Baldwin

At 1,250 acres, the Sweet Air section is one of Gunpowder Falls State Park’s larger enclaves. It’s popular mainly with equestrians and mountain bikers, but it’s usually very sparsely occupied. This is a great choice for those who enjoy an appetizer of a challenging hike along with their swimming-hole main course. Follow the white blazes from the parking lot along two miles of steep trail, winding up and down through both the Little and Big Gunpowder Falls valleys, before the path settles in to follow the Big Gunpowder’s meandering course. There are any number of terrific swimming sites here—pick one and name it after yourself!—but the one I keep coming back to is well-marked with a bench and a plaque bearing a John Muir quote; apparently I’m not the only one who loves this particular spot. There’s a fascinating freaky tree to one side of a long, shallow waterfall, with a sort of natural sitting area for laying back and letting the water sluice over you. It’s very private and, aside from the occasional mound of manure along the trail, pristine. The water tends to be shallow along this section of the Gunpowder and is rarely more than waist deep; this park is more for watery lounging than active swimming.

JONES FALLS

Round Falls (also called Horseshoe Falls), Falls Road near Chestnut Avenue

OK, so you might not actually want to swim here, but people do. Mainly young teen boys from the surrounding neighborhoods—Hampden, Remington, Woodberry—who are drawn to the drama of jumping off the dam into the surging waters of the deep pool below. Swimmers seldom linger in the water here, though I have often seen younger kids playing on the sandbar and in the shallow water just downstream from the falls. (Everyone I’ve met at Round Falls tells me that the real swimming spot on the Jones Falls is a half-mile or so north, under the JFX’s Falls Road exit ramp, but I’ve never met anyone swimming there. Locals call it “Dead Man’s Cave,” apparently because every few summers there is a drowning at the site).

The main risk of swimming in the Jones Falls in the city comes not from current or rocks but rather the water itself, which, according to the Maryland Department of the Environment, is “impaired by nutrients, suspended sediments, zinc, copper, lead, and chlordane.” (“Nutrients” being a nicer term for “leaking sewage.”) Basking in the tranquil surroundings of Round Falls it’s hard to believe the transparent, sun-sparkled water harbors such nasty ingredients. It’s a beautiful spot, an arboreal oasis in the midst of the city where the air is cool and smells of earth and green growing things. The roar of the falls overpowers the roar of traffic on the very nearby highway. The Jones Falls’ sister river, the Gwynns Falls, looks like an urban waterway—it’s choked with shopping carts, anonymous metal hunks, and large pieces of masonry, and its banks are festooned with a truly stunning strata of trash, layer upon layer of washed-up plastic bags and snack wrappers (although people swim there, too). Along many of its upper stretches, however, the Jones Falls itself resembles an unsullied rural waterway. It’s easy, on a sweltering summer day, to understand the appeal of a quick dip in its cool, clear waters. I, however, have never personally taken the Jones Falls plunge. Caveat natator.