While I can't speak for Rockaway Park in the summertime, which I have a sneaking suspicion may be overcrowded with people trying to escape to the beach from the heat and the summer smells of Brooklyn, I can say a few words about it in the middle of February.

If you are looking for an escape from New York for a day in the winter, this is a hidden gem... so long as you are ready for some long subway rides. Let me recount my experience:

I take the A train all the way past JFK and transfer to the Rockaway Park shuttle at the Broad Channel Stop. I mess up the transfer once and end up somewhere in the far reaches of Brooklyn , which costs me some time, but after that the trip is all-too-easy. Right off the subway I drop into a pizza place with REAL PIZZA and REAL ITALIANS. I bet that this was what New York Pizza used to be like, thick baked-ziti toasted perfectly with ricotta and covered with melted mozzarella. The owner starts complaining in broken English and mixed Sicilian with some Department of Sanitation workers (yes, this is all playing up to be a bad mob movie) about some tenants down the road that don't recycle. After my stomach is full, I worry that maybe there is no "park" after all and perhaps New York has paved over it all. I head towards the beach determined to shake these doubts from my thoughts.

Once I hit the boardwalk, I know immediately that my travels were not in vain. It is a cold, wet day and the wooden planks sparkle for such an overcast sky. I can see out in the distance the end of the boardwalk and nothing else but a lone runner. I am on the oceanic side of the Rockaway Peninsula now, and although I know that the hustle and bustle of Manhattan is just over the hill, I look out over the windy sea and imagine that I am somewhere far away. From here all I can here are the crashing waves and the wind kicking off the shoreline. I walk still further, and finally houses disappear. I've reached the large fence that divides the development from the park.

As I walk still further, I'm not sure what to think. To my right there are seemingly abandoned buildings and it looks like something that was developed in the 70s and then forgotten. The railings to the lifeguard stand were falling apart and the trees were well on there way to taking over the racket ball courts, slowly cracking their roots through the concrete. It seems sad how neglected everything appears, and then I feel a sense of joy that nature is taking back what should have been preserved land to begin with. I take some trails through the thorn forests and it's much of the same, abandoned buildings and gunnery of the old Fort Tilden being taken back to nature. I head back to the beach, feel at peace once again, until finally all of the footsteps fade away into the sand and only the ones I leave behind remain. From here, I might as well be off the coast of Maine in Arcadia National Park, at one with the sea and sand. Just when I think I'm about the hit the end of the Peninsula, I come around the corner and see it. A large building, a large fence, and a large sign: "Private Property. Fisherman's Club. Keep Out."

Go figure. I take a bus back from Ft. Tilden to Brooklyn and the 5 train all the way back home. When I finally hit 86th street, I thoroughly dislike fisherman.