Eric A. Chugchilin Obituary, Death: 19-Year-Old Spring Valley Man Identified as Haverstraw Beach Drowning Victim

Eric A. Chugchilin, a 19-year-old resident of Spring Valley, has been identified as the young man who tragically drowned in the Hudson River at Haverstraw Beach State Park on the afternoon of Thursday, June 26, 2025. New York State Trooper Jennifer Alvarez confirmed the identification following the recovery of Chugchilin’s body from the river by divers from the Piermont Fire Department at approximately 6:20 p.m. The tragedy unfolded near the Riverside Avenue entrance to the park, setting into motion a large-scale, multi-agency search and recovery operation. In the hours that followed, officials from the Rockland County Sheriff’s Office, Rockland County Fire and Emergency Services Dive Team, New York State Forest Rangers, State Park Police, Haverstraw Police, Thiells and Stony Point Fire Departments, Westchester County Police Marine Unit, New York State Troopers, and the Piermont Fire Department collaborated in a painstaking effort to bring Chugchilin home.

Though every fatal drowning leaves behind a devastating silence, the death of Eric Chugchilin has echoed particularly loudly—both because of his youth and the deeply human details of how the incident unfolded. According to authorities, Chugchilin entered the river earlier in the afternoon and was last seen walking through the shallow water. But at some unmarked and unseen moment, he stepped off a ledge and into a deeper section, beyond his ability to stand. The simplicity of the misstep—how a shallow walk turned fatal in an instant—now haunts the stretch of waterfront where it occurred.

Bystanders who witnessed Chugchilin’s sudden distress tried desperately to help. As he struggled in the deeper water, several people on shore and nearby attempted to pull him out, but the current and depth proved overpowering. Within minutes, he had disappeared below the surface. Emergency services were summoned around 4:00 p.m., approximately 25 minutes after Chugchilin had last been seen. What followed was a rapid, coordinated effort by agencies trained for these very moments, but hoping never to enact them.

Divers entered the water. Emergency boats patrolled the river. Command units established coordination points. Rescue crews consulted depth maps and recent flow charts to guide the dive teams. The coordination among local, county, and state resources reflected both the urgency of the moment and the heartbreak attached to it. There was still hope, faint though it was, that Chugchilin could be located in time to be revived.

But the river had already made its claim.

After nearly two hours of combing the area, divers from the Piermont Fire Department located the body near the same section of the riverbank where Chugchilin had vanished. The timing—6:20 p.m.—closed the window between hope and mourning. It also began the difficult process of notifying next of kin, processing the scene, and understanding how such a tragedy had unfolded.

In the wake of the drowning, the Palisades Interstate Parks Commission (PIPC) issued a renewed public safety warning that swimming is strictly prohibited at Haverstraw Beach State Park and across all parks within the Palisades Region. While this guidance has long been posted on park signage, it is not always heeded, particularly during summer months when visitors are drawn to the water by heat, recreation, and the allure of open spaces. The reality, however, is that these parks are not designed—or legally permitted—for swimming. There are no lifeguards. No designated swim zones. And the Hudson River, while serene in appearance, is anything but benign in function.

PIPC Executive Director Joshua Laird emphasized this very point, warning that the Hudson is a hazardous waterway, particularly in the unmonitored areas of the state parks. “We urge visitors to follow this crucial safety rule, as swift currents and steep drop-offs make these waters hazardous, especially for those unfamiliar with the river’s conditions,” Laird stated. His warning, while deeply rooted in policy and public safety, also carried the weight of the day’s loss. It was a reminder issued too late for one family, now left to mourn a son, a friend, a young man who simply misjudged the terrain beneath the surface.

The tragedy has raised difficult questions not only about park safety and public awareness but about the human factors that precede such accidents. Why was Chugchilin in the water? Was he unaware of the no-swimming policy? Did the signage fail to communicate the dangers? Did the appearance of shallow water create a false sense of security? These questions may never yield definitive answers, but they are nonetheless vital—especially if they can inform future prevention.

Haverstraw Beach State Park, part of a wider network of scenic Hudson Valley parks, attracts visitors with its expansive shoreline, sweeping river views, and open green space. It is a place meant for walking trails, picnics, and quiet contemplation. But its proximity to the water, combined with a lack of formal barriers or lifeguard staffing, makes it deceptively accessible. While the park explicitly bans swimming, there are no fences to prevent access, no audible alarms, and no on-site patrols dedicated solely to water safety. Enforcement of no-swim zones, in most cases, relies on the honor system and public compliance.

Eric Chugchilin’s death is a cruel reminder of the stakes when that system fails.

For the Spring Valley community, the news of his death is a shockwave. While Chugchilin’s biography remains largely unknown to the wider public, his youth alone has magnified the collective sense of loss. At 19, he was entering adulthood—an age often marked by pivotal transitions: new jobs, college choices, independence, identity. His death halts all of that. It leaves questions unanswered, dreams unfulfilled, paths untraveled. And for those who knew him best—family, friends, classmates—it leaves behind the kind of grief that has no roadmap.

The responders, too, are not immune to this emotional toll. Every fire department diver, police officer, ranger, or paramedic who responded to the scene stepped into a narrative that would end in tragedy. Their professionalism and coordination ensured a recovery, but the sorrow of what they recovered cannot be easily set aside. In the silence that follows the confirmation of death, first responders often carry more than just equipment back to their stations. They carry the memory.

What Eric Chugchilin’s death has already begun to spotlight is the broader tension between public access and public safety. State parks, particularly those bordering rivers or lakes, are natural magnets during the summer season. People seek refuge from heat. They seek moments of recreation, rest, and relief. But when those settings contain unmarked drop-offs, unpredictable currents, or steep underwater ledges—as the Hudson often does—the results can be catastrophic.

The Hudson River itself is a complex water system, shaped by tides, vessel traffic, and natural formations. Its currents vary dramatically based on location and weather. Drop-offs along its banks can be sudden and sharp. Even strong swimmers can find themselves pulled into currents far stronger than expected. For those unfamiliar with the river’s conditions, especially in non-designated swimming areas, the danger is not abstract. It is immediate and severe.

That reality is why so many agencies responded to the call—why dive teams from multiple jurisdictions entered the water, why boats were dispatched, why coordination mattered. The Hudson does not forgive hesitation. And time is never on the side of the drowning.

As the official investigation continues, the focus will remain on assembling the full timeline of events. Investigators will document where Chugchilin entered the water, how far he had gone, what specific depth transition caused his distress, and how bystanders responded. This information is not merely procedural—it is essential. It informs how authorities will assess risk, improve signage, and perhaps reevaluate enforcement mechanisms in similar parks.

But no investigation can reverse what has already occurred. Eric Chugchilin is gone. And that absence—shaped by minutes in the water and now echoed in the long silence of grief—will remain with those who knew him for the rest of their lives.

The park remains open. The river still flows. But the landscape has changed. A memory has been added to its banks. And for the community that now grieves, the image of a young man stepping from shallow water into a fatal depth is one they will carry forward—not only as loss but as warning, as remembrance, and as a call for renewed vigilance.