O.K. I get it. If you're going to start a blog, you have to keep blogging, even when you're on vacation. The problem is that the weather on Nantucket has been unusually good. I need a bad day and a downpour to get me back in front of my computer for more than a check of my email, fishing reports, the tide charts, and the detailed seven-day weather forecast for "Nantucket County, MA," provided by the National Weather Service. But this morning it has rained already, and the chances are it will rain again. And, yes, as I always do, I also have checked the radar images at the National Weather Service website. You see, like so many others here on island, I regularly watch the composite reflectivity loop from Boston radar, and as I sit here now gazing at the brightly colored rain clouds moving towards the island, I find myself almost mesmerized. Although most of rain appears to be passing north of Nantucket, I am determined to sit here and blog, no matter what the weather.
But where to begin? A brief fishing report is in order. Both off shore and on, the Bonito fishing has been slow. A trip to Great Point produced a few blue fish, but it is disappointing, indeed, to find yourself with only the large head of a fish after a large seal has devoured the body of your catch. Today, I had planned to go back to the Bonito Bar with a friend to fish the rising tide at midday, but our trip has been cancelled because of the weather. We have rescheduled for Monday morning at 6:oo am, and I am afraid that leaves me with no excuse as to posting a blog today.
With so much time on my hands and such lousy weather, I can sit here and share an experience I had a few days ago, when I drove down to the South Shore to meet my family at the beach. It was another bright, sunny day on this beautiful island, all blue sky with no clouds, and that reminds me of something I heard the wonderful comedian, Lewis Black, say at the Nantucket Comedy Festival last weekend. Commenting on the beauty of this place and using the "F" word for appropriate emphasis, he said he did not understand how anyone could get anything done here or would even try. Maybe that's my problem.
But back to my story. My family had gone to the beach earlier in the day. They had driven there in our Toyota Highlander, a sturdy car with four-wheel drive, equipped with a tow rope and shovel, etc. They were not driving on the beach but on unpaved dirt roads, sandy, heavily rutted paths that lead down to the South Shore beaches in the Madequecham Valley. These roads are bumpy but manageable in almost any vehicle.
I had not gone with my family because I had errands to do in town, but the plan was that I would join them afterwards. I was left with my son's car, a low-slung Acura sedan, and after completing my errands I headed directly to the beach. Leaving the State highway, aka the "Milestone Road," I headed south on an unpaved road called Russell's Way. I was in a hurry, eager to join my family for lunch, and I made good time on the winding, dusty dirt roads that led down to the beach. However, when I finally turned off onto the trail leading to the beach parking area, I suddenly found myself in deep sand. I was only 500 yards from the cars parked above the beach, but I had gone around a blind corner too quickly and the result was that my front wheels were stuck in the sand. I got out of the car to appraise the situation and saw that my back wheels were still on firm ground. No problem, I thought. I got back in the car and put it in reverse. Then I stepped on the gas and buried the car deeper in the sand. The car would not budge, and I suddenly realized that I had made a terribly stupid mistake, for I had forgotten that my son's car has front-wheel drive.
I can't remember where, but I recall reading somewhere that front-wheel drive is like bad sex. That thought came back to me then, and I felt quite embarrassed as I sat there in my son's car. I got out and call him on my cell phone, asking him to drive down to help me with the Highlander. Then, while I stood there, waiting for him, next to his Acura, several cars passed and the occupants offered to help me, but I waved them on. I knew that with my son's help we could get the car out quickly, but I was, as I say, embarrassed.
I have been coming here long enough and driven enough on the sand to know better. The last time I got stuck was out at Great Point when the four-wheel drive in an old Ford Explorer gave out. With help from a friendly fisherman, I was pulled back out of deep sand and then drove in reverse back to Wauwinet and terra firma, staying in the deep tire tracks in the sand all the way back. I've also been stuck in a my old Jeep Cherokee out on Coatue in very deep sand when I was fishing, but I always was able to dig myself out.
Never had I been stuck in a black sedan on a dirt path, only a short distance from a beach parking area.
Well, my son arrived, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. But he was eager to help me, and after letting a little air out of the tires, quickly digging out the front end of the car, and hooking up the tow rope, we managed to get the car out of the sand in only a few minutes. Then, carefully avoiding any deep sand, I drove around to a different trail leading to the beach and joined my family with my tail between my legs.
But there is more to this story than a humility lesson for me. Later in the day, I drove my son's car into town to get it washed and remove some of the sand from the undercarriage. I also put more air in the tires, and as I reached for the hose at the air pump, a man pulled up next to me in a big red Suburban, covered with dust, and rigged out with rod holders and coolers. He got out and shook his head. "Wow!" he said to me. "You drive that car on the beach? That's incredible."
"Only on the South Shore," I replied, nodding as I spoke. "Only on the South Shore."
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