Montauk, like the rest of the east end of the island, has a history rooted in land grabs and unfair land deals with natives (here, the Montauk), speculative dreams of marine or tourist wealth, use by the military, fish stories and fish histories. Much of the land east of Montauk Harbor is preserved now. There are some great stories about the radar at Camp Hero and alterations in the space-time continuum (“Under the Radar, a Montauk Park”). We’re here today, though, to take a turn in ordination, to go from heading east to heading west.

Our put-in at Gosman’s beach is just west of the jetties for Montauk Harbor, blasted, dredged and opened by Carl Fisher in 1927. He went bankrupt two years later, and during WWII the US Navy owned and operated most of the area as a base. Later, Montauk Harbor became one of the leading fishing ports on the east coast and housed Frank Mundus, the role model (by most accounts, except for Benchley) for Quint of Jaws fame. Gosman’s fish market, restaurant, clam bar, etc. now operates much of the western point of the harbor.

*A note on sea kayaks, foot pedals and rudders. Maria and I knew we’d be going through some rougher water today. Her Seaward Navigator is a great kayak; it is light (kevlar), but it is intended for a larger person–certainly over 200 lbs. Otherwise it floats just a bit high in the water with someone of Maria’s weight at 120 lbs. The foot petals are aluminum locks and braces with a nylon strap to adjust the tension for rudder control. My Perception Sea Lion is a heavy plastic boat and sits lower in the water. It is very stable and great for someone as light as Maria. We had actually tried to make the rounding of Montauk Lighthouse a day before, but the seas were a bit high and Maria couldn’t get her foot pedals to work right in the Navigator. I told her the gods were against us that day and to acknowledge their warning. When we came back the next day, we switched kayaks–I’m a blocky 205 lbs., so we adopted each other’s kayak according to the ocean’s desires.

 (Maria sitting a little better in the Perception)

On the beach just east of Montauk Harbor is usually a row of RVs and a few tents at the Montauk County Park. 

A few waved from their lawn chairs and one grandma tipped a can of IPA our way as we moved east. A single Cessna ambled its way to the airport just behind the dunes. Shagwong Point was the first destination. The name “appears to mean ‘on the side of a hill,’ from the Delaware Indian ‘schajawonge'” (http://easthamptonstar.com/Archive/2/Whats-Name-Shagwong). From there, a few glacial erratics dot the shore line, but the birding improved dramatically. Certainly the laughing and black-backed gulls, cormorants, terns and ospreys remained, but we saw an eider and later even a common loon. Waterfowl not as common to the area this time of year.

A slight fog came in as we crossed the shallow bay to the lighthouse.

 

The swells picked up a little and the wind too, but nothing that created much difficulty. Maria had warned me many times about the currents and tide at Montauk. No fishermen or boats dotted the sea around the lighthouse, so we didn’t have to deal with anything but the elements. The swells did get bigger to 2 ft. or so as we rounded the bend and turned west. Too, the currents seemed to collide in a way that left us needing to paddle harder and not be pushed toward to riprap onshore. Whereas, a few days before I pondered the placid paddling trip, I now paddled hard and kept an eye on Maria, who always keeps a close eye on my kayaking shenanigans. There was a hundred-yard section of swirling water–like water in a pot just before it comes to a boil. I did shout out once to paddle hard to Maria, who simultaneously shouted out to me paddle hard. Ah, semiotics. However, we made it around without much drama and pulled ashore just to the west of the lighthouse to laugh a bit and reflect on the currents.

The beach there has a lot of glacial till and displaced riprap. Someone of an artistic nature had stacked a few rocks for some aesthetic reason.

 (photos by Maria Brown)

I am not much for this kind of art if you want to call it that. I’d take the stacking of water and gravity over ours any day.

 (photo by Maria Brown)

I told Maria I’d take the littered coke can as art more than stacked rocks. I can recycle cans but even unstacking rocks seems an unnatural act.

We only had another 3-4 miles to our takeout at Kirk Park Beach. Now, however, we had open ocean on one side and surf on the other. The goal was to stay around 40-50 yards off shore, close enough to see folks on the beach and not so close we would have to deal with cresting waves. For the first time on the trip, we were glad to have 17-ft kayaks with rudders and spray skirts. Riding the small swells up and down were no problem. The wind began to blow form east to west and a strong current began to pull us along. Maria reminded me some of the isolated mansions dotting the ridge were owned by celebrity sorts. Ah, the shores are lined with them I expect. 

Ditch Plains Beach was not that far, and we paddled past the surfers straddling their boards for the right ride. It’s a local, hang-out place for kids, dogs, and old geezers with a surf board. The famed Ditch Witch sits close enough to water for us to see, serving fast food to those burning lots of calories and those burning calories at a slower rate. We landed a little past the surfers, not wanting to disturb them. We learned then about the delicate dance of landing a sea kayak in surf. It seems to be going well until you hit sand and the next wave turns your kayak sideways and either you (if the sprayskirt is still on) or your kayak (if the spray skirt is open) takes on a lot of sand and water. It was an ugly ballet, but the surfer kids seemed to move from concern to laughter as we stood up laughing and spitting out sand.

 (surfers and fishing boat)

We had a protein bar and some water and soon launched again. Funny note: one of the surfers came up to say hi. He was the young man attending Stony Brook in the fall and lifeguarding at Albert’s Landing from a few days before. He asked about the trip and its success. Soon, his father came up and introduced himself and talked in glowing terms about his son. Sometimes, Long Island is a very small island. If you are here for a few years, you meet a lot of locals again and again in different locales.

Going into surf isn’t nearly as bad as landing. Just wet when the waves crash over the bow. Paddle hard and stay straight. Think of Tom Hanks’ island-escape scene in Castaway without such imposing waves and the need for a plastic-stall sail and angel wings divine intervention.

Our last stop was Kirk Park Beach in downtown Montauk, just a mile or two away. We made it quickly and Maria went to pick up the car with racks back as Gosman’s. A few surfers and paddleboarders played around in the surf.

I wandered over the dunes to the parking lot to wash off our life jackets and equipment. I met an older couple who asked about the trip and my goals. I tried to explain, but the gentleman interrupted. Thanks, he said, shaking my hand. I wish more people gave a shit when they moved here. But what you’re doing is stupid. And laughed. Sometimes, I love New Yorkers and their sense of humor and honesty.