Winter, no one and everything on Block Island

by | Dec 30, 2017 | Block Island

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No one was there, at so many Block Island spots. No one looked up from much of anywhere. No one on the island was catching or digging. No one kept their head down, praying while playing a big bass until a car with yellow plates passed. No one stood out in the cold to see acres of sea smoke.

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Sea smoke rises from any icy Atlantic

Confucius gave us, “Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.”

No one walked any flats either side of Beach Avenue, where ebbs then flows have smoothed sharp black sand elbows. Exposed stretches had tightened up after short, low sun days and bitter nights. Hard clams were deep. Burrowed crabs stayed warm beneath seawater sheets changed twice daily.  No one pulled frozen strings to tend their minnow traps, barely anchored in narrow strips of streams fresh and salt.

No one sat on summer docks, now hauled and stacked on brittle grass, freckled with barnacles gaping a final time from planks turned grey by salt and sun. No one leaned against Twin Maples’ windows to see fishing poles stored overhead on pine rafters or Eat Fish t-shirts neatly folded as frost gathered on one inside window corner and snow capped both outside. The tide chart case was empty, a fading sign said Closed while a red lobster remained, guarding the door.  Hopefully, Mackie Swienton’s a.m. radio also remained, behind the old counter, a small yet important reminder of a very fine man.  

Across the street, nobody saw Geoff Hall carefully shoveling snow off a 12 pitch frozen plywood roof except for Alan McKay, who walked alone on the first floor betwixt studded walls, past holes square-cut for Harbor Pond views, considering how to pick up where Norris Pike put down his hammer and pencil, sadly and far too soon. 

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Sparse, frozen and thin. Winter bluffs on Block Island

No one was at Settlers Rock, looking or casting north, squinting into afternoon shadows stretched over boulders where stripers hunt in most months but these. Fish, big fish, fish of tall tales encircle such structure where small fish have no chance, where surf casters throw darters and Danny’s to draw them closer. No one was unbuckling sandy cleats, leaning on the stone set for 1661 when early immigrants prodded ashore the island’s first cow. Not even one person searched for sea glass along the beach where an 1846 shipwreck breached her holds of coal, to be picked up and brought home to the demise of peat, despite there being no stoves yet to accommodate its particular burn.

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No prints, no docks, no boats at The Boat Basin

No one left one snowy footprint at the Boat Basin dock where wind blew in all directions and back again, leaving ice sometimes on frozen piers. Small waves battered ladders worn from children of all ages hauling in green crabs and white squid for warm evening entertainment and dinner. No docks were busy, there were no boats in sight.

No one saw a red blinking light, channel marking New Harbor for lost sailors and Camel smoking fishermen finally, gladly steaming home. On a small rocky stretch to the north and a bit east off Hippocampus, there were no strings of lobster gear or vertical buoy lines sharp and spliced with fluke rigs cut off from recreational fishing frustration. Those traps were stacked tightly now behind sheds and barns, punctured with buoys awaiting Spring colors.

Nobody turned from the wind to walk a long beach past the Coast Guard boat house where that same wind had cleared sands of fish and men. There were no towels, coolers or flimsy webbed chairs, no prints north or south from bare feet or booted waders, no evidence of seaweed line tug of war battles fought with monofilament or stumbles close to a quick deep edge or victories planned while coercing a strong fish to come ashore.

No creaking was heard at the Mohegan Bluffs stairs, no deer grubbed through snow for food alongside.

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Long winter’s walk, longer returning

Far below, flushed by summer heat, stripers will linger between mossy boulders of incalculable weight, some of both visible only with a rare perfect moon. Bluefish will tear through slow rollers, slashing bay anchovies and peanut bunker, their oily sheen tinting humid air with wisps of watermelon only the wisest salt might detect. Several it seemed were the additional steps on an upward climb.

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White lights on Mohegan Bluffs

The overlook, with a lighthouse to the east and one far to the west also was empty now but busy earlier, with does and bucks nibbling sparse greens, sparing ample reserves of bright winter berries.

No seals were sinking that last floating dock in Cormorant Cove because there were neither. Cleared by low tides, surrounding sands still wore last season’s tans except where December brushed and blew them white. No tire tracks parted ruts of mud, preserving evidence of fishing The Church at Southwest Point. Only deer braved such a steep hike down to a stony beach, where Fall stripers parallel the points. All the rocks were black.  Sea water was chunky with rough circles of ice. Everything glistened.

One day, Spring will return to brighten everything beneath us, above us, all around us. Hard North winds will ease to southerly breezes, stone walls will again be consumed by bayberry, Great Salt Pond flats will be warm and dotted with bare and webbed foot prints. Striped bass will lurk along Pots and Kettles, patrol a tide change at The Church and rest near Grace’s Cove in eddies a few rods beyond our reach. Soon, some of those breezes will hint of watermelon, someone will step over old black coal to continue a battle, docks will creak from the weight of children instead of cold. Everything has beauty indeed and it’s there to see when we look closely, especially in winter, on Block Island.

tcorayer2017winterberries

Red, white, stone, brush. Forage for another month of winter.

22 Comments

  1. Maureen Neville

    Thanks for this beauty on a cold winter’s night. Magical. I hope to make it to Block Island soon.To feel the quiet.

    • tcorayer

      Thank you Maureen. Thank you for reading and for appreciating the island as so many do.

    • tcorayer

      Thanks very much, Maureen. The island is magical indeed, especially without the crowds and noises. It will be quiet for you for a few more months. Thanks for reading, I appreciate it.

    • Sheila lemoi

      Todd, I so enjoyed this. It made me so homesick but happy to be familiar with every place you mentioned.
      I wish for one, just one more winter there. If only……

  2. Carol

    Thank you so very much

    • tcorayer

      Thank you for reading and enjoying.

  3. dee cook

    Awesome 👍😊

    • tcorayer

      Thanks very much for that, I appreciate you making the time to read it.

  4. Carrie Rametta

    Beautiful. Have always loved the beauty, peace, and simplicity of Block Island. Thank you for reminding me.

    • tcorayer

      Thank you Carrie, it certainly can be a magical place. Thanks for reading the piece, I’m glad it brought you back there.

  5. Jeff Ritter

    eloquent……so many memories…

    • tcorayer

      Thanks Jeff, it really is quite a place. Thanks for reading.

  6. gina

    Such a beautiful, visual piece of writing. Thank you!

    • tcorayer

      Thank you so much, Gina. I was lucky to be on the island at the right time with enough personal history to make the words work. Thank you for reading.

  7. livingchicwithcynthia

    wow its amazing to see how calm and quiet the island looks compared to the summer time when the streets are crowded

    • tcorayer

      Indeed, it’s a totally different place. Both seasons have their moments but winter sure is special out there.

  8. Katie Maloney

    Such beautiful writing! Makes me homesick for winter on BI!

    • tcorayer

      Thank you Katie, I really appreciate that and know that feeling of wanting to go back.

  9. Meghan McCollam

    Food for the soul Todd, beautiful piece!

    • tcorayer

      Thank you Meghan, it’s quite a place and sometimes, that makes the writing easier and more enjoyable. Thanks for reading it!

  10. Everett R Littlefield

    Hi Todd, Just now am reading this on Dec 28 2019! Beautiful writing and it captured the soul of this special place! It made me “homesick” and I’ve been here for 81 years, except for twenty in the. USN. After leaving here at 17 and after spending lots of time with my Grandfather and Uncle, 8 YO till 17 catching codfish from a dory towed behind their boat, I never wanted to see a damned fish again!

    I am going to be working my way through all your posts for the rest of the winter.
    Everett

    • Todd Corayer

      Thank you sir, that means a lot. Really. Every once in a while I manage to get the right words in the right order and something good comes of it. I appreciate you reading (glad to know someone does!). If I made you feel homesick then I hit a home run with that one!

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About The Author

Todd Corayer is a lifelong fisherman and occasional hunter whose writing relies on poor penmanship, sarcasm and other people’s honest fish stories while seeing words as puzzle pieces that occasionally all fit together perfectly.

His work has appeared in The Double Gun Journal, On The Water MagazineThe Fisherman, The Bay Magazine,  So Rhode IslandSporting ClassicsCoastal AnglerNY Lifestyles, The Island Crier, and very often in the wonderful RISAA Newsletter.

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