One careful old man picks

his way across the waves

toward shore. Life

is a balance of

fragile parts.

(“Existence and Beach Days,” D.B. Axelrod, Starting from Paumanok)

 (gull tracks on the morning beach)

Today’s trip was overly planned. I was going to stop at Sagg Main Beach, and so Maria and I did the car/kayak dropoff two-step for a hour this morning before returning to Amangansett for my to launch. That also meant I was alone for a day of paddling, something I hadn’t done yet. I had started the trip with Scott and then Maria had a few days of freedom between her summer teaching jobs. Both are amazing people and very patient with me. But I was ready for a day alone on the waves.

The lifeguards were setting up their area when we arrived. A few folks and gulls wandered the beach, but only a few of each. 

Though it is hard to see, note the blue flag and the sign saying “No swimming past this point.” The Town of Southampton uses the blue flag to warn “Moderate Hazard – strong sweep and undertow, use caution” (http://southamptontownny.gov/DocumentCenter/View/7225/TOS-Condition-Flags-PDF?bidId=). However, other times, the blue flag warns of dangerous marine animals such as jellyfish or sharks (“What Do Beach Warning Flags Mean?”). I should have asked the lifeguards which it meant, but I was ready to be underway. I knew the maritime weather was fine, and as for sharks, well, if a great white is going after my 17.5 kayak, then there might be some destiny at work. Quick histories:

• Amagansett Atlantic Ave. Beach was the site of one of WWII’s most noted Nazi espionage cases. Six Nazi spies landed form their U-boat right here as part of Operation Pastorius  (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Pastorius). Their goal was to disrupt/sabotage infrastructure sites: dams, railroads, etc. One of them later turned himself in in Washington DC and gave the location of the remaining spies. Most were executed and later the remaining two were deported back to Germany.
• Another odd note, Lou Reed died here in 2013 (https://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/28/arts/music/lou-reed-dies-at-71.html?_r=0). It’s an even odder thing to remembered this as I prepared the kayak, a slight wind blowing in from the surf.

“Does anybody need to be told over and over / Spitting in the wind comes back at you twice as hard.” (“Strawman,” Lou Reed)

It was an easy launch, I seemed to catch the low waves just right and soon I was passing by the Amagansett National Wildlife Refuge and the Atlantic Double Dunes Preserve. There was a long stretch of beach with few folks taking it in. There’s likely some good reasons for this. The refuges here make it more challenging to get to the beach and behind them are some of the more expensive homes, estates, and mansions on Long Island. I’m not sure when the second-/third-home folks make their way here, but it wasn’t today.

It’s an odd feeling finding my way among the homes and houses to the beaches. If you end up on one of those streets with the really large houses, you realize humans in fresh air are outnumbered by security cameras. And if there are folks in the neighborhood, they most likely are lawn, construction, or cleaning people. I usually saw one or two people walk-ercising (new word) with a boutique-bred dog but if those were locals, they were outnumbered by the work crews. I wondered if folks knew or met their neighbors. The boxwood hedges suggested otherwise, but I was a foreigner traveling through, so what do I know. I enjoy my neighbors, but I’m a loquacious Texan. My daddy used to say I’d to talk to stump for a few hours before I’d find out it’s bored. I have found in Riverhead that there is a lot more interaction among people of differing classes, work, and interests than many other places on Long Island. But even in my neighborhood the price of houses have gone up $50-75K in just this past year. Now, we’ll never be a hamptons, but I worry that encroaching security cameras will change the more egalitarian scenery we have.

Not much farther west, I saw the beach road access just by Hook Pond. There is a small bit of a rubble jetty from the beach. Hook Pond like many other ponds on the East End of Long Island is a freshwater pond. It lies  4 ft. above sea level (https://www.dec.ny.gov/outdoor/24168.html). The pond, according to local newspapers, has its good days (fishing, walking trails, etc.) and bad days (nitrogen run-off, dangerous algal blooms, invasive plants, etc). There’s much more to be written about the struggles and preservation of East End natural ponds. Mike Bottini’s Trail Guide to the South Fork gives an excellent history and natural history of the ponds out here and their relative health.

Also, Thomas Moran of the Hudson River School lived much of his adult life in Easthampton and the subject of prints and paintings. One I particularly like is a 1907 painting titled “The Old Bridge over Hook Pond.”

 The Old Bridge over Hook Pond

Moran is well known for his grand paintings of the American west, which helped raise public awareness and played a role in creating the need for preservation in the American psyche. Would that someone could paint such a pastiche of Long Island and inspire such a reaction for this place.

Just over and north of Georgica Beach is the estate of Grey Gardens. The Beale women (mother and daughter) were the subject of a 1975 documentary Grey Gardens about their lives in the estate and the questionable conditions and squalor. In late March, my friend and colleague Melinda Levin was in town giving a talk at SBU. She asked me to drive her past the home to take a picture for her husband; he’s a fan of the documentary.

Just after Georgica Beach are three jetties which have been the source of debate and court cases for over 50 years (“Jetties I Have Known: The Amazing History of Hamptons Jetties”. I have much more more to write on this topic in another entry.

I had finally gotten into a groove moving with the kayak which moved well with the mild, 1-2 ft. swells. I even had the chance to take out my phone and make a short video. It’s not the most visually stunning work, but it sort of mimicked the day.

 

As part of my research, I’m reading the long-time poets of Long Island as another way to deepen my sense of cultural place. I was struck by D.B. Axelrod’s lines:

One careful old man picks

his way across the waves

toward shore. Life

is a balance of

fragile parts.

I couldn’t help a little personal reflection on the lines. I am not an adventure kayaker. I am not staying out on the water for 12-14 hours. If there’s a storm coming in, I’m at home. I’ll finish this trip around the island when I get to it and it will take a looong time. I’m a bit honored to offer that line to myself, as I’ve gotten to be an old-ish man. Too, I sometimes too easily employ a tone of certainty about people, land/shore use and power-slash-money. Maybe it’s my very blue-collar Texan background tinged with an academic flourish that lets me want to say how places and people ought to be. But as Axelrod rightly says, “Life is a balance of fragile parts.” I’m riding waves and learning. Maybe I should spend more time listening and observing. There’s time enough later for judgement.

*****

My final destination was Sagg Main Beach just by Sagaponack Pond. It was by today’s standards a busy day here–there might have been 20-30 people. As landings go, my kayak and I caught the largest wave in and landed in a graceful manner far enough ashore that the next wave didn’t crash into me. I told friends later it was the only elegant surf landing to date. They pointed out I was by myself, so who the hell knows how elegant it was. Fair enough.

Maria had left my car in the parking lot, and I had left my ubiquitous note about conducting research hoping to avoid a parking ticket. Best, it worked. I made a quick run to a very swanky porta-potty and still had a bit of the mild swaying feeling from a few hours in rolling sea.

The ride home felt right somehow, even though today’s paddle was 7-8 miles of similar swells. I looked forward to my home and the scarlet oaks and pitch pines in my backyard. I figured I’d ride out the swaying feeling with a beer or two in the backyard. Fragile parts. Back on the water tomorrow.

 

Montauk, Kirk Park Beach to Atlantic Ave. Beach, Amagansett

 

(hastily taken photo in ocean swells)

Sea of stretch’d ground-swells,

Sea breathing broad and convulsive breathes,

Sea of the brine of life and unshovell’d yet always ready graves,

Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea,

I am integral with you, I too am one phase and of all phases. 

I too am Paumanok …. (Walt Whitman, “Starting from Paumanok”) 

While paddling in open ocean, staying in the sweet spot between sand bars and beyond surf is a good life study. There is a shifting zone of swells outside shore that happens just before surf and yet is inside the outer bar. Even on a day like today, which was mild, a paddler will still ride up and down 2-ft swells but nothing good sea kayaks weren’t made for. It’s not tippy, but if you get motion sickness, it’s probably not a fun trip either. Yes, a good life study.

The IGA store in Montauk always seems to be busy. Restaurants, delis, and convenience stores are common, but grocery stores are rare. A young woman driving a stretch electric cart asked us if we wanted some organic fruit juices–it was the last day for this promotion. She said she was interning this summer for a marketing group, and her job was giving free rides along the beach areas in Montauk and handing out samples. Can’t say I’m learning a lot about marketing, but I got a sweet gig in Montauk for a summer, she mused.

Our trip today was only 10 miles or so, but our only experience on the open ocean was on rounding Montauk Point. The maritime weather report said it would be a mild day and low wind and swells. Yeah!

From Kirk Park Beach going west, Old Montauk Highway takes a southerly beach route from Montauk Highway. Most of the homes in that rise of land up to Hither Hills State Park have been around for a long time. One of my dear friends Susan Cohen, writer, professor, and model human (https://sites.google.com/site/susanacohenphd/), has a house in that neighborhood. She grew up in Montauk back when Mick Jagger came to town and trashed a hotel room; she still tells the lovely story of seeing her first bar fight when she was serving at a pub by Montauk Harbor in the 70s. She said she hid under a table and watched for flying glass. Susan has been one of my Long Island heroes since I came here four years ago (I’ve known her for over 25 years though), encouraging me to ride out the wave of discomfort and find a sweet spot for myself. She bought me a St. John’s-wort to plant in my yard to help me through the darkness of winters here.

Maria had found her stride in the Sea Lion kayak, and the mild wind and the blues between ocean and sky were not too different. Hither Hills State Park Campground marks the end of Susan’s neighborhood. The RVs and pop-up campers lined the beach for a half-mile or more and then after a series of resorts all the way to Napeague and Beach Hampton.

Out on the swells, menhaden popped the surface over and over and skimmed the water in schools thick and densely packed. I’m guessing the bluefish and striped bass are hunting them, and at other times and much further at sea, tuna, humpback whales, dolphins and a few other predators I’m not aware of. The schooling seems to be a protective action as individuals are easy prey; however, it is also allows for a more effective haul by humpback whales when lunge-feeding.

Speaking of high-volume feeding, The Lobster Roll was now almost directly north of us. It wasn’t visible from our ocean vantage point, but Maria noted she’s been going there since she was a little girl. It’s been a fixture here since the mid-sixties. I took her to The Lobster Roll for her birthday a few days earlier, and we had puffers for an appetizer before the requisite titular entree. Northern puffers used to be plentiful for for Long Island folks Maria’s age and were an easy meal often called “chicken of the sea” for its meaty texture and flavor. The waitress noted they’re making a comeback with fishermen and patrons alike (“On the East End, the Humble Blowfish Mounts a Comeback”). Reader, if you haven’t had puffers, you’re missing something in your gastronomical life!

 (photo by Maria Brown)

A note on mylar balloons! grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. By now, we’d picked up, popped and stored away a few balloons. It was high school graduation week on Long Island and not surprisingly a few celebratory items had escaped and landed in the ocean. Mylar balloons often look like prey to marine animals, and they ingest them or get tangled up in the ribbons (“Hold on to Those Balloons: They Could End Up in the Ocean” ). Who knows if the graduates knew what happened to these fleeting/fleeing balloons of congratulations? However, if we approached such things with the same conviction we do our lobster rolls I’m guessing I’d find fewer getaways.

It was a Sunday and the beach at Atlantic Ave. in Amagansett was smattered with families. The surf was a bit higher than before, so Maria headed toward a landing with fewer people but still near our take-out. It was a rough landing; she made it to beach just fine, but as the next wave came in, she stood up next to the kayak. It was slammed into her shins and she went head over heels to the other side, landing awkwardly. The lifeguard and a couple of the adults came to her aid, and I was waiting for the crowd to disperse before trying my own landing.

Mine was equally elbowy and sketchy; I took on a lot of sand and water while being helped by the same folks. The lifeguard suggested we jump out of the kayaks in knee-high water next time. O…K…A…Y… I thought to myself that this plan too had its flaws. Maria ended up with two big bruised knots on her shins and I spat sand for an hour or so.

I pulled the kayaks up the beach near the parking lot and waited on Maria to get the car with the kayak racks. A nice warm bench sits near The Beach Hut, the close-by beach bistro, which was obviously a popular place.

The beach-goers seemed amused by our crash landings and as they left the beach came over to check on the kayaks and then me. Oh, no worries. Good learning moments, I chuckled. I’m not sure Maria would have had the same answer.

On the dunes near the bench, beach pea vine (Lathyrus japonicus) flowered in the grasses and bayberry. It was a searing purple in the late afternoon sun.

*****

A colleague and friend of mine Sharon Pochron told me I need to put more of me into these entries. She’s a great writer and I asked for her thoughts as she is the kind of writer, thinker and friend I aspire to be. Sharon said I needed more story, more emotion and trajectory.

She’s right I’m sure. Sharon is a damn good editor and reader. But what to say, I thought sitting on the beach, drying out, spitting sand, with the watchful purples of beach pea vine to my left. As I started this project, I wanted to find a myth of home-making here in Long Island. Whitman’s “Starting from Paumanok” is his myth of childhood and place bound in a spirit bundle/poem of memory, place, sinew, and home. Mine is the searing heat of a north-central Texas summer, spring fields of blue, red, yellows and oranges. Buzzards soaring in thermals and horny toads (now almost entirely gone from my home) spitting “tobacco juice” on your hand. The smell of manure in the field around the “cattle tank” where you cast a topwater Rapala lure in hopes of a black bass strike. Post oaks, elm groves, and muddy rivers winding their way through sycamore and burr oaks. I am integral with that place. It seeps into my dialect as well as word choice.

Maybe now, with lots of planned starts and stops of this paddling trip, the beginning of a cursory history of the places I’ve seen and read about, maybe with a few of the challenges and scrapes and bumbles and ecstasies too, seeing more and for the first time from a new vantage, maybe even as a more than middle-aged man, I’m on the way to finding a story, my story–immersed in this sea, this land, these communities.

That’s as personal as I can be to now. All else is fiction. Or I just don’t want to tell you.