YOUR
PERFECT BEACH
by
Peter Fyler – a real
exclusive buyer agent
These
days with summer approaching, you’re probably commuting
long distances for work or family responsibilities, sitting
in your office, taking meetings, or doing countless mundane
chores, BUT your mind is elsewhere. You’ve got Vineyard
fever. You can’t wait until those precious few days or
weeks you’ve allotted arrive so you can return to
paradise.
The
Vineyard is waiting for you and it is looking better than
ever. The Boston Globe this past weekend acknowledged
the Vineyard by publishing their picks for Best of in New
England in an article titled, “Your Perfect Beach”. They
picked this Island for the Best Waves….
“South
Beach in Edgartown on Martha's Vineyard, also known as
Katama Beach, has soft sand and gorgeous dunes. It's also a
fantastic place for bodysurfing. Catch a frothy wave and
ride it into shore -- with or without a boogie board. Beware
that sometimes-fierce current can also make for a dangerous
swim. Exhaust yourself with a ride, then rest up for your
next trip out with a snooze. Parking is free, but you'll
have competition.”
They
picked this Island for the best Sunsets….
“With
its rocky jetties, fishing docks, and near-still water
reflecting golden orb and pink sky, Menemsha Beach in
Chilmark on Martha's Vineyard is as photogenic as it is
friendly. On summer evenings, tourists and locals alike
gather there to toast the setting sun with raised glasses of
chardonnay and lobster claws. (Chilmark's a dry town, so
BYOB. Pick up your picnic before 7 p.m. at nearby Larsen's,
which sells steamed and cracked fresh lobsters for rustic
al-fresco dinners.) You can also take your fishing tackle
and license and catch your own dinner while you watch the
sun go down.”
And,
they picked this Island for the Best Nude Bathing. All
right!
“New
England is skimpy when it comes to clothing-optional
beaches, but among the few, the unofficially nude area of
Moshup Beach in Aquinnah on Martha's Vineyard is tops, with
warmer water than other island beaches. And it's small
enough that it doesn't draw crowds. Just be sure to cover up
as you walk to and from the nudity-friendly areas near the
cliffs marbled with clay; the other side of the beach
attracts fully clothed families. There is parking for
nonresidents, but it's limited, whether you're naked or
not.”
Personally,
I think we qualify for BEST in a lot of other categories,
but we try to keep our best a secret. This brings me
to a short story I want to tell you about my Sunday morning
this past weekend.
A
friend of mine, whom I assisted in purchasing a home here a
number of years ago, came down for the weekend. He
claims I forced him to buy it, but he keeps telling me over
and over again how much he loves his home and how much he
loves the Vineyard, so I guess I did the right thing.
He sits at a desk all week and loves to be outdoors whenever
he can get the time. He came across from the mainland
Friday night and was out at the crack of dawn with all his
fishing gear strapped to his Wrangler Jeep Island car, 18
psi in the tires and headed for Wasque. He spent all day
fishing, and then blew off a dinner invitation from me,
because he heard from the legendary Cooper Gillis that the
Blues were running at Wasque from late afternoon until
nightfall. He caught nothing.
He
invited me to join him on Sunday and I accepted. I could not
have cared less whether or not I caught anything; I just
needed a mental health day and there is no better therapy
than being on the beach, plus I always enjoy his company.
We went out bright and early with fishing poles bristling
from every porthole on his Wrangler. We looked like a
porcupine, but very official. First stop was Wasque
where the real fisherman had already lined up and the
frantic flailing of long poles was in full motion. But, no
one was catching anything. There were just as many
real fishermen just sitting inside their trucks “watching
the water for signs”, my friend told me.
After
a while my friend said, “Well, we’re not going to catch
anything today, so what would you say if we headed up to the
Gut?” That’s what they call the tip of Cape Poge.
I said, “Sure, that sounds great!”, so off we drove
slogging our way through the deep moist sand and passing
truck after truck of real fishermen --- catching nothing,
but watching the water for signs. We passed a dead
Minke Whale splayed out at the edge of the surf, garnished
with seagulls hastening its return to Mother Nature.
I
continued to gawk at how absolutely beautiful and magical
the marshes and flood plains are all along the Trustees of
the Reservations conservation land. Imagine driving
along a slender strip of land simultaneously viewing, on one
side the pounding Atlantic Ocean, and on the other side the
placid waters of Cape Poge Bay; it is just mind boggling.
Where was I? All of a sudden my friend said he wanted to
stop and try fishing along a stretch of East Beach. We
agreed to give it a try, and after backing the Wrangler into
the obligatory perpendicular position, lest the tides catch
us off guard and we have to make a hasty getaway, we got out
and strutted up to the water’s edge in our big boots,
poles in hand without a single soul in sight. We cast
out into the surf. My friend is a serious, I mean real
serious, fisherman so he watched intently whilst retrieving
his line, but I just start reeling in, looking everywhere
but at the water. It’s just too beautiful not to
soak it in, and after all, I’m on a mental health day.
I repeated the process another time, but this time my line
wouldn’t retrieve as easily, it’s going the other way
--- out! I caught a fish! I reeled it in, and it
was big. I looked over and my friend was going through
the same contortions I just experienced. We both caught a
fish.
Now,
this is where it gets ugly. After I caught three or four
fish I was content and felt accomplished, but real fishermen
like lots of fish, and Mother Nature was very accommodating
this Sunday. Our combined catch was about 33 blue fish
and two striped bass --- my friend seriously in the lead.
What I really loved about the experience was, as soon as we
started catching fish, the scent was picked up by other
fishermen and all of a sudden they started to appear on both
sides of us. It just goes to show, if you catch ‘um,
they will come. However, they --- the real fishermen
couldn’t catch ‘um. They looked at the lures we
were using and changed to match, but they couldn’t catch
‘um. We finally left around noon, because my friend
had to catch the ferry and I was seriously thinking about
seeing my chiropractor. I know one thing for sure; I
am now a real fisherman. There is no place like the
Vineyard, but please let’s keep it a secret --- it’s the
best.
Boston
Globe excerpts: Writer Janice O'Leary lives in Boston.
Writer Stephen Jermanok lives in Newton.
The
opinions expressed herein as SplitRockRE
Comments are solely those of the
editor.
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