The Dirt Road

[DZ]

The Dirt Road

As I turn left off the smooth pavement and onto the unnamed dirt road (it does have a name on the local maps but there is no road sign) I’m greeted by a buck peering at me from the other side of a stone wall. His disbelieving gaze watches my vehicle in apparent disgust for interrupting his 2:00 am pursuit of does on this November night. The road now badly rutted from recent Nor’easters needs a good grading which it will not get till next spring. As I drive up a steep incline the “washboard” effect does its best to loosen the fillings in my teeth. My tires grab an occasional small stone throwing it into my undercarriage. The tote of plugs rattles loudly in the back of the buggy – I swear the hook points dull from driving on these back roads. The road is very narrow – one lane – meet another vehicle coming from the opposite direction and someone has to back-up into a driveway or slight pullover to allow the other to get by. As I drive along I go by occasional driveways marked with family names like Ball, Tilden, Smith, almost all marked by “Private” or “Keep Out” signs. The road has many forks and most are unmarked – take the wrong one and you could be lost in a maze of other roads all looking the same – especially at night. A friend of mine got lost the first time he tried to find this place one foggy night – it took him an hour to find his way out.
Continuing on I take a left here, then two rights, then bear right at the apple tree, fifty yards further and the road starts to turn sandy – a sure sign I’m now getting close to my destination. I drop my headlights to just parking lights for the last forty yards. I pull into a small clearing just off the road to my right marked by a sign that says “Private beach parking – Permit required.” Room for three but I’m the only buggy here tonight. I turn the keys and shut the engine, then turn off my inside curtesy lights so as to keep my presence less noticeable even though most of the homeowners have long vacated their summer estates. I step outside into the black night; it’s eerily quiet with not a breath of wind. In the distance I hear a coyote wail; when it stops I hear the sound of receding waves pulling cobble stone into the bowl. A bowl I know intimately, the boulders surrounding it even better. Already geared up I grab my plug bag and eels and head down the foot path through soft sand over a small bluff. Once over the crest the cobble bowl that I could only hear moments before now comes into full night vision view. I pause momentarily and look into the star filled sky – say “Thank you” aloud – and continue to the water’s edge….


DZ

[MarshCappa]

Thanks for the SPOT BURN! Now every Tom, #^&#^&#^&#^& and Harry will be on that road! Just kidding. That was a cool read!

[Crafty Angler]

Hmmm...I vaguely remember a place like that ...

Let me think on it for a while.....the old memory isn't what it used to be....

[DZ]

Originally Posted by Crafty Angler

Hmmm...I vaguely remember a place like that ...

Let me think on it for a while.....the old memory isn't what it used to be....

Don't think too hard ... it's a compilation of many different dirt road experiences from my past.

DZ

[JohnR]

And remember to bear left at the Nome with the broken lantern

[Crafty Angler]

Originally Posted by DZ

Don't think too hard ... it's a compilation of many different dirt road experiences from my past.

DZ

Ahhhh.....I see.....fiction...

Well, you old-timers are pretty sly

[FishermanTim]

Well written!
It "paints" an awesome picture that only those who have ventured out on these kinds of excursions can fully appreciate.

One of my personal favorite sites/sounds was the fog horn coming from out near Duxbury Beach (that's the direction it came from).
I had worked in an office that had a fax machine that made the same exact pitched sound when receiving a fax, so I could always close my eyes and be back on the bridge on a foggy day/night while fishing.

I have seen more than my share of nature's wonders, and I feel myself wanting for more!

[PI guy]

I'll be getting lost on those roads in a couple of weeks! Thank you once again DZ for reminding us all of what it is all about!

[Nebe]

a nice piece of writing DZ

there are no coyotes on block island though.. only rich cougars

[The Dad Fisherman]

Originally Posted by Nebe

a nice piece of writing DZ

there are no coyotes on block island though.. only rich cougars

Ross, You doing Block next Year?

[Clogston29]

Originally Posted by The Dad Fisherman

Ross, You doing Block next Year?

i bet he found plenty on the Vineyard

[rphud]

Nice Kevin. Josh, I will swear to Ross being on his best behavior while on the Vinyard (at least when I could see him). Actually the cougar sightings on the Vinyard where way down due to the weather this year, unless you did the wedding crasher thing (always tempting if you have the monkey suit with you). It is the season after all (the wedding season that is).

[JoeBass]

Really nice. takes me right there. Thanks.

[livinit]

That sounds awfully familiar Dennis . . . I know you say it is a compilation, but I too have been lost on "that" dirt road and sounds like a recent journey you have just been on. I relate to your gratitude when you walk over the sandy bluff. Well written. I'm curious if after you have just said thanks, did you then curse the string of lobster pots 20 yards from the boulder strewn beach?

[BillM]

Out in front of the light house I walk like a drunk along the steep bank of loose stones and seaweed. As the beach narrows at the tip I shift my gear to one hand and use my free hand to cover one ear from the fog horn. I hope it's not damaging my hearing.I only feel a slight tickle in my drums; like a poorly mixed live concert. A musician could identify the pitch of the horn, I'm guessing it's "A". Rounding the tip, the knee high wall to my left grows higher until it is over my head and all the light from above dissapears.Now I get ready for total isolation in this pitch black corridor of bolders, crubling walls and ocean surf . My headlamp reveals only it's small perfect cirle through the darkness forcing me to focus only on the bolders at my feet.Every few bolders I must stop and click it off to see through the fog.In the distance I see the black shape of my main rock. As I click the headlamp back on I see a small orange glow in the rocks ahead.Another fisherman I hope, lighting a cigarette - no! There are two orange glowing eyes.A coyote - I click on my big flashlight and the eyes glow brighter, I can just make out the shape of his head. There is not enough room to pass him, and he's not quite done looking me over.After a moment I get a little "fight or flight" feeling and there's no "flight" for me in these rocks.My apprehension starts to turn to anger, "...Your still lookin'at me - you little Moth*#@&r?!!!" I give a sharp whistle, he definately aint no dog.Now I feel like I want to lunge at him, I let out a "Ahhrrr!" shaking all my gear at him and he takes off in a shot.
Great - now I spend the rest of the night looking over my shoulder. At two other times I hear a small pack of them making a kill in a nearby marsh.They sound just like Hyeenahs.It was amazing to hear. This was this morning : )

[FishermanTim]

I have made many a night trip down to the Powderpoint bridge over the past 10+ years, and quite a few of those were solitary journies.
You tend to develope a "6th semse" of your surroundings, probably hightened by your focus on the fishing. I have had quite a few times where I was alone fishing the overnight tide and either "sensed" or heard the coyote running /walking behind me on the bridge. I was momentarily frazzled because of the potential problems these animals can create, but they never do create any problems. They pass me as they would pass a tree or a rock and continue on their way either to hunt in the dunes or return to their dens on the "mainland". There is something primordial about being alone and hearing a coyote howl out on Duxbury beach on a calm moonlit night.