February 04
Man has assumed control of his environment to such an extent that bad weather is often no more than an inconvenience. Perhaps it is appropriate that this spot was to remind me how much we take the power of nature for granted. In 1977 I remember standing on a high spot overlooking the parking lot, concession stand and bath house at Coast Guard Beach. Arlene and I discussed how we would probably see the ocean overtake the protective dune within our lifetime. Less than a year later in the storm of “78” the ocean obliterated the dune, parking lot, and concrete building in addition to picking up the “Outermost House” from the outer beach and depositing it across the marsh at the base of Fort Hill.
Still, prior to this walk I was a little embarrassed. After finding out how easy January was, I was beginning to wonder how hard this year’s goal would be. I pictured an easy 3.5 miles or so in the usual early thaw of February. Instead, I was humbled by a one-mile mostly backward (to protect the face from frostbite) walk. The frigid wind curtailed the trip and now I have to reconsider my goals.
Historically, at least since 1975, most February vacations have provided tolerable weather. In 1981, we were able to cap the foundation of our summer home while working in shirtsleeves. Other years I’ve been able to ice fish, with little discomfort. In 1991 we winterized the house. Although there was nearly two feet of snow on the ground, the weather was great. We often took breaks to make toboggan runs on the isolated hills of South Wellfleet.
I had imagined that today’s walk would either be too easy or have to be extended to create a challenge. It was either a simple mile from Coast Guard Beach to Nauset Beach or forge on into Wellfleet. We woke to cold weather and a surprising storm that dropped a quick two inches of snow. I was excited by the prospect of having at least minor adversity.
Arlene and Biscuit decided to accompany me on this leg. We dropped the car at Nauset Beach, then Emily and Matt shuttled us to Coast Guard Beach. The distance of a single mile wouldn’t take long. Although the wind was whipping I noted the direction and figured hugging the dune would provide at least partial protection. For a moment I considered making the trek North to South keeping the wind at our back, but remembered my vow to complete the walk sequentially. Directly into the wind it must be!
Once on the beach it took less than one hundred yards to realize that this would not be the cakewalk I anticipated. Every square inch of bare skin was assaulted by a biting cold that can only be understood when experienced. In the time it took to snap a few pics the hands became numb. Frostbite became an immediate concern.
The sun was so deceiving. There was no warmth. Nearly half the total distance was done walking backward to save faces from the onslaught. Only biscuit seemed unfettered. My usual modus opperendus would be to walk the low tide line. Then as whim struck I would head to the wrack line to survey the detritus and observe the bottom of the cliff for unusual spillage. I was going to pass by the same area where erosion and dune excavation had once uncovered burning pits and Native American artifacts.
There was to be no exploration. Cold kept exploration to a minimum. The bottom edge of the dune was covered by snow; the wrack line was non-existent. Recent wave action had attacked the cliffs and the only beach litter was rocks, pine branches and clumps of sod that had slid down the bank.
When reading accounts of winter shipwrecks I’ve often wondered why there were so few survivors. So close to shore, clearly in sight of land, how could they not make it? After less than a quarter mile my lifelong question had been answered. They would hit the water with a sudden shock. Soaked clothing would weight them down. If it took more than a minute to reach land strength would quickly drain from their bodies. Soon their only hope would be to wash nearly lifeless up to the beach. Once on land they would find the wind more brutal than the water. Ice would immediately form on the body. If they were able to crawl the seemingly endless distance to the base of the dune, they would be confronted by a 50’ to 100’ high nearly vertical wall of sand. The only hope at this point would be the arrival of the surfmen. Unless a fire had already been built the life would slip away long before they could be taken to one of the dune shacks or lifeguard stations.
Back to our task at hand. I only took one side trip to water’s edge. After snapping a few pictures I retreated to the dune line but found little comfort. We were headed directly north, and the snow was blowing directly south. We would walk backwards, occasionally running into some 8” drifts that were arranged like windrows in a hay field. Or sometimes hitting our heels on some of the larger rocks that had rolled down the dune face. When our faces were warmer we’d turn around and lean deeply into the steady gale, picking up the pace. Despite cold extremities sweat started to build under protective layers of clothes.
With ocean on our right and sheer cliffs on our left this proved to be a desolate area. Plans are now in the works for Eastham to create their own ocean beach somewhere along this stretch. During the creation of the Cape Cod National Seashore, Eastham ceded their beaches to the government. A prevalent feeling among year-round taxpayers is that the Seashore has not lived up to their promise to maintain free access to local residents. So although the new beach is controversial, the movement is steadily gaining momentum.
Just once there was a slight cup in the dune face. Moving slightly up the face it was possible to get out of the direct wind. After a brief moment we moved on. There was only one low outcrop of clay along the entire walk. Signs of erosion were constant. There were many small rocks along the dune line as well as clumps of sod and pine branches that had come down the cliff face. Once we were in sight of the stairs the dune became much lower and there was an inviting path. We scurried up the snowy sand face and entered into a large wooded bowl. To our left stood two houses that had a commanding view of the ocean but were hidden from the beaches sight. To the right there was low vegetation growing eventually into large trees that hid the Nauset Beach parking lot.
Back on the beach we were quickly to the stairs and up to the parking lot. What seemed like a long time was just a thirty-minute walk. In better weather the walk would have been much longer. Snow covered most of the wrack line so it wasn’t feasible to stop and dissect the contents. With side explorations kept to a minimum, the goal was just to get it done before freezing. Perhaps another time I’ll take a closer look at the dune and water line. But my overall impression is of an expanse that is mostly valuable for its remoteness.
From the steps I could see that our next leg of the trip had some more interesting rock formations at water’s edge. For now it is time to re-evaluate the challenge. I’ve been reminded that when the weather is cold and the Cape wind begins to howl, the outer beach is not the friendly host found on warm summer days. March now becomes a catch-up month.
