I walked the perimeter of Martha’s Vineyard last October, over four consecutive days. Walking six to seven hours a day; covering between 12-15 miles at a stretch. I went from Lake Tashmoo, through Menemsha, around Aquinnah, along South Beach, across Chappaquiddick, and finished in Oak Bluffs. The second day coincided with my 60th birthday, and I felt good about that.
There were lots of things I felt good about during and after
the walk, but there was also the physical toll and waves of emotion that
created different kinds of feelings and reflections. The walk was deeper than a
bucket-list adventure check-off (though I had been thinking of doing it for
years). It was more of a trek, a journey. A dialogue with myself, birds eavesdropping.
This is the story a venture out into the world and an
accomplishment adorned with a little bit of insight. History and future saddle-bagged
each step. Laughter, tears. My inside joke as the miles piled up, “How did you
get there? I walked.”
My past includes visiting the island since I was in diapers
with my family for vacations, usually staying on Ocean Park. I also lived there
for summers as a worker when I was older, and stayed year-round in the
mid-eighties working professionally as a social worker.
But the Vineyard was always a presence. Idealized place?
Somewhat, but working and spending a winter tempered it a bit. Plus, my whole
family was familiar with the island, and the dynamics went beyond simple vacations
together, we brought the baggage of the outside world. Thoughts and feelings about
family rolled in with the tide.
Ultimately, the days ended up melding family history and
today. Step by step, some stretches more contemplative than others, the past
walked into the present.
I’ll tell you about 4 days, some of the minutes and hours.
Minutes spent slipping across what I call rock fields and hours spent in
trance-like, non-drug induced states. The whole trip added up to a total that
was greater than the sum of its parts.
DAY 1, October 4: Lake Tashmoo to Menemsha
Rain. Woke up in my comfy Air BNB hoping that the forecast
was wrong, but it was spot on and the rain was steady. Ate biscuits and drank
strong coffee. Made a note in my journal to the effect that I was glad I was
getting started but really anxious about whether I was ready physically.
My training for the walk, back in Cleveland, was very
limited. I battled Plantar Fasciitis all summer and the longest walk I took in
a trekking style (i.e., not wandering on dog walks) was three miles. That’s it.
I concluded that the walk was going to have to be done on
willpower, stubbornness, and fear of looking silly after talking it up. Everyone
I talked to thought it was cool I was doing it, but I didn’t want to have to
explain if it didn’t happen.
I filled my backpack with stuff
that included a gallon of water, tuna and crackers, extra socks, a small first
aid kit, notebook, pen, phone, map, Swiss Army knife, and (wishful-thinking for
day 1) sandals.
Then I put on my new raincoat and called the Uber. My
destination was the west side of Lake Tashmoo, where Chappaquosett Road ends.
The driver was a Jamaican woman, and we had a nice conversation.
Of course, she wanted to know what I was up to and I babbled a bit about
journey and desire, and laid out my walking plan. As we drove through the rain
and veered off Lambert’s Cove Road onto the final stretch of dirt roads to
Tashmoo, I told her I was bummed about the rain. She paused and gave me a gift
of words that stuck with me all day, acting as a mantra when the driving rain
was at its worst. She said, “The rain gonna do what it do, you just do what you
gonna do.” Bam. I got out of the car and walked onto the beach.
Two words encapsulate day 1: rain and rocks. The coast
heading southwest from Tashmoo is rocks with rocky rocks on top. Of rocks. I so
welcomed short stretches of sand. But I did find a new friend in spongy clumps
of seaweed. They actually made for surer footing rather than the slippery rocks.
I only thought later about how easy it would have been for me to twist (break!)
an ankle and have to limp to a road or house. I just had to concentrate on
where I stepped. The power of doing what’s right in front of you, literally.
The seaweed is an example of surprisingly useful walking features
I encountered. Other examples are tire tracks to follow in heavy sand (day 4) and
compacted low tide surfaces. But on day one it was the soaked-to-the-underwear
reality front and center.
Meanwhile, I saw dozens of washed-ashore lobster traps and
colorful rope (I saved a few pieces of unusual hues of blue and yellow). For a while I counted birds: cormorants,
terns, gulls, a few crows and one Egret.
I started thinking about where I was. On a gorgeous coast of
a beautiful island, alone and walking. A speck on a planet but significant in
my own way. Singular. It was a theme that rolled around in my head. I tried to
follow the mantra, when you walk, just walk. Prayed for people and the
earth. Sang.
Mostly on day one, though, and to some extent days 2, 3, and
4, my mind chattered & flitted, and my body sent messages of stress and
strain. I was vigilant about the rocks and aware of how wet I was and the
driving rain in my face. My feet hurt in my new, unbroken-in boots. That night
I examined and treated blisters and sore toenails, one of which was coming
loose.
I saw only one person and a dog all day before arriving in
Menemsha. They appeared in the distance early in the day on Lambert’s Cove
beach. Down around Cape Higgon I took a rest. Otherwise, 7.25 hours alone but
not lonely. I was mission-driven though, at times, miserable. Thoughts of
getting back to my warm and dry lodging helped. As did the thrill of doing what
I was doing. The rain did its thing, but I did mine.
When I arrived in Menemsha a woman was on the beach and her
dog came running up to me. when I reached her, I said something about the dog
being my welcoming committee after walking from Tashmoo. She said, “Oh, don’t
you love being on the beach on rainy grey days?” I laughed and thought of the
rocks, driving rain, my sore muscles and feet. Then I realized that yes, in
fact, it was lovely. I slurped triumphantly on hot chowder and gobbled a couple
of stuffed scallops from the take-out window at Larsen’s fish market. In the
rain.
Eventually I took the bus to Vineyard Haven, went into the
Stop & Shop to grab some dinner and walked up State Road to my resting
place. I showered, ate, and was in bed by 7:10 pm, four Advil down the hatch.
DAY 2, October 5: Menemsha to Stonewall Beach.
Woke up so stiff I couldn’t stretch my arms past my knees.
Happy 60th birthday! But I was encouraged as I moved around, drank
coffee, ate a banana. At least I was able to move. Got a ride to the end of
West Basin Road, hoping that walking would loosen me up. Turns out it did and
it didn’t. One big plus—the forecast was for intermittent rain. Wore my
raincoat anyway.
Day 2 was more drifty and dreamier than day 1. Less
stretches of rocks, until near the end approaching Squibnocket. I settled into
a nice rhythm, buoyed by the fact that I accomplished 12 or so miles yesterday
(my distance estimates are based on map measurements, not any kind of digital
counter). My eyes felt more emotionally and physically open, what with less
driving rain and a new confidence I could actually do 4 days of walking.
I took in boulders, studied visual patterns, smiled at the
intermittent sunshine, sang and used another mantra--things look far away,
then you get there. Not exactly quantum physics but it was pleasant to
repeat. I took pictures and short breaks. My feet were complaining and I played
some music for distraction. Tried to really take it all in.
The cliffs got bigger and bigger as I walked southwest to
Aquinnah, they began to literally take my breath away. Majesty and
magnificence. I realized for all the time I had spent on the Island, I had
never seen the view of the cliffs on the Lobsterville side of the Gay Head
Lighthouse. The Lighthouse become my morning beacon, and I hoped I had read the
tide chart correctly to get around the point without swimming. Had no trouble
getting around it at 1 p.m.
Soon, I saw a few people exploring the beach. Later I stopped and bandaged my problem
toenail and big toe blister. Noticed other nails getting blood blisters.
It is walking on uneven surfaces that affects feet the most.
The right hip, leg and foot are lower as you go. I chose to stick closer to the
water (often there were less rocks) even though it was more sloped. At points
the narrow beach forced the issue.
I thought a lot about it being my birthday. I’m the youngest
of nine kids and my family circumstances have included losing five siblings. Something
about walking lent itself to reflection, and my family’s history was
intertwined with the Vineyard.
It felt like I was walking for all my sibs in the sense of
our shared history and love for the Island. Of course, when the family comes up
my thoughts can’t help but turn to my sister’s suicide, another’s accidental
death, multiple mental illnesses, and substance abuse. This is not a woe is me,
it’s just life on life’s terms.
I recalled my brother tossing a suitcase off the ferry into
the harbor while manically rambling. Thought about my sister in a tiny Circuit
Ave apartment: holed up, paranoid, getting blitzed. Then being the life of the
Ritz Café before getting bounced.
The walk created a space for reflection of the whole
kaleidoscope. My own substance abuse and sadness included. I got sober 16 years
ago and I don’t think I would have done the walk if I hadn’t. Somehow this was
all woven together as I gazed outward at the sea, upward at the cliffs, across
the sandy scene. A richness of experience, not all of it happy, but whose
experiences are always so?
At the end of the day, after Zach’s Cliffs, Long Beach, and Squibnocket
Point I sat in the parking lot of Stonewall beach. I had limped the last mile
or so, the rocks again making my will the engine of last resort. Plus, where
was I going to go but onward? A great day, but it got even better.
My Uber app found none available, “try again later.”
Instead, stuck out my thumb at the intersection of South & Squibnocket
Roads.
An older woman named Paulette stopped! She immediately told
me she didn’t know why she stopped. I told her it was because I stuck my thumb
out. We laughed and immediately came to delight in each other’s company. She
gave me grief for what I was doing even as she obviously admired it. We joshed
and jived. About halfway to Vineyard Haven it struck me how much Paulette
resembled my mother Rene in appearance and attitude. Wrappers and other trash strewn
about the car, cigarette smell, quick to laugh. After the time I spent thinking
about my family, here was a spirit like my mom’s to take me safely back to my temporary
nest. Amazing way to end day 2.
DAY 3, October 6, Chilmark to Katama.
I had gotten smart and bought some Epsom salt to soak in
after day 2. It didn’t help. I woke up achy and took more Advil. Started out a
little later, drank more coffee. It was sunny and getting warmer.
The day was a long march across the southern shore. Nothing
but sand in front of me and the Atlantic to my right for 14-plus miles. Except
when I got to the cut between Chilmark Pond and the Atlantic. Knew it was
coming, didn’t know if it would stop me and require circling back. It looked
like a mile across, but it was probably about 15 yards.
I paused only briefly at the rushing water. Wondered if the
tide was going in or out and if I should wait. Quickly I told myself not to
overthink it. Wrapped my phone in a plastic bag and put it into one of the
extra socks at the top of my backpack. Decided if I started wading and it got
to my chest I would turn around and find an inland route. Here goes!
The current was stronger than it looked but the footing was
sandy. I leaned forward and crept slowly, step by step. Water got to my waist
when I was halfway across and I took heart. This meant it would slope up from
there, right? Only later would I realize that didn’t have to be the case, it
could have just gotten deeper. Geometry was never my strong suit. Fortunately,
each step after the mid-point got less deep. Then, the slip.
Three-quarters across, almost there, breathing easier, and
my right foot went awry. My shoulders lurched forward and I instinctively tried
to pull back, throwing my left leg forward to catch myself. It worked and while
I did get wet to my chest, I didn’t fall under. Pushing on I hit land-ho!
Once safe on the sand I started laughing and yelling. I
whipped out my phone—dry as when I started. I took a 20 second clip of the cut
and kept laughing in relief.
Since I hadn’t seen anyone and doubted I would, I stripped
and laid my clothes out to dry. Looking out to sea, I thought, “Why not take a
swim?” It was about warm enough and it felt like a kind of baptism to mark the
successful crossing. It felt great.
The rest of the day until Katama was walk, walk, walk.
Unfortunately, I wasted some time grinding with anxiety as I approached
Edgartown Pond because I wasn’t sure if there was another cut to forge. There
wasn’t and I got mad at myself.
Here I was in such beauty and I was worrying about something
I couldn’t control. If there was a cut I would have to decide to either cross
it or go around. I was pissed that I was worrying but eventually got over
myself.
I grew mighty tired as I covered the rest of the miles to
Katama. Finally, there was the parking lot off of Atlantic Drive, a little way
past Crackatuxet Cove. Sat on a rock waiting for a ride, got back to my place
and was ready to collapse. First, a huge surprise.
My wife flew in and was standing in the Air BNB’s living
room waiting for me when I walked in. I can’t describe how moving it was to see
her, truly ineffable. She came to witness, and added the oomph I needed to get
through day 4.
DAY 4: Katama to Oak Bluffs.
The morning broke bright and clear. It occurred to me that
each day had gotten successively nicer weather-wise. Fitting. Here I was ready
to finish. I was exhausted and emotionally vulnerable. On day 3 I had burst
into tears a few times, overwhelmed by the beauty I was observing (did I
mention the clouds and the seals?), the deep sense of satisfaction I was
experiencing, the wonder of it all. Wonder-filled.
Again, I felt the paradox of being a tiny speck in the
universe and at the same time feeling like a huge, singular presence, embracing
a peak experience. The walk was time
alone simultaneously with feeling woven into the fabric of everything. That’s
about the best I can describe it, so I’ll leave it there.
As I headed toward Wasque Point, Katama Bay on my left, the family history once again dominated my heart and mind. I had purposely saved listening until this final day to a recording of interviews I did with three of my siblings about their lives. It was from about 10 years ago and I had never listened to it.
I heard my siblings’ voices expressing a mix of emotions as I asked them about growing up among the heartaches of deaths and illnesses, rampant substance abuse and conflicts. Let’s shorthand it this way—my family was included in a National Institute of Mental Health study investigating familial clustering of serious mental illnesses. Four of my siblings qualified, if you count the suicide as a major depressive disorder. Add an early accidental death. As one can imagine the affects upon all of us sibs and my parents were monumental and devastating.
Eventually, the history dissipated, came to rest in my mind,
body and spirit. Gently, with no fanfare. It wasn’t in sharp relief anymore, it
just was. I’m relating a trek that included physical, emotional, and spiritual
dimensions over 4 days in October, and my internal encounter with family
history was part of it.
Most of day 4 felt triumphant. I rounded Wasque point and
saw Pocha Pond for the first time. Sensuous vista, that. I went as far as Dyke
Bridge and turned down Chappaquiddick Road to the ferry landing. It felt really
strange to walk on a road.
As I continued to wind down my walking, I grew both more
excited and increasingly elegiac. It was almost over! Oh no, it’s over! Can’t
believe I did it coupled with of course I did. Smiling and getting teary.
The first thing that struck me after landing in Edgartown was
how busy it felt, a bustling metropolis. I stopped and bought a seltzer and the
newspaper and continued to State Beach. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been around
some people the past 3 days, but I did spend more time alone and walking during
my waking hours than anything else.
I walked along State Beach to Oak Bluffs. I felt emotional
and proud. I met my wife at Giordano’s pizza and clam bar. Damn the slices and
fried scallops were amazing!
We flew out the next day. I hold onto the experience like a
special gem, and carry a piece of Quahog clam shell with purple highlights in
my pocket every day. I decided to write about it, knowing my power of
description would inevitably fall short. But that’s okay.
It was four days of rock, sand, sky, water, and self last
October. Today a more peaceful view of
the past. How did I get there? I walked.
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