Swan Song: Part I

"Where's your other half?" the postal clerk asked me yesterday. Wow, I thought, somewhat taken aback, he actually recognizes me. Wouldn't you know, just as we're about to leave, we've become "locals."

Having been cleared for take-off by all institutions concerned, we're closing on our new apartment in Brooklyn this week and, in all probability, this will be my last post.

Westward ho

I haven't had the opportunity to live on the East End since I was a teenager. We relocated when I was thirteen and I vividly remember sitting at the kitchen table in our house in Huntington as my parents broke the news that we were moving to Montauk to open a motel. Just what every 7th grader wants to hear.

"Where are you taking us?" I wailed. "It's the end of the world. There are no people out there."

Well, I'm here to tell you it was true then - I graduated Montauk Public School in a class of 10 - and it's true now. Only my perspective has changed.

Montauk in winter is still a small town at the end of the known world - for Long Islanders, in any case - where the deer probably outnumber the residents. It's desolate and isolated.

There is great beauty in that.

I hope you've enjoyed reading about winter in this hamlet as much as I've enjoyed blogging about it. Thanks for sharing it with me.

I was going to end this blog with that ubiquitous "The End" sticker, but somehow, this seems more fitting...

All You Need Is...

Sylvester & Co., Amagansett

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Louise & Clark, Part III

With the walk-through on our new Brooklyn apartment cancelled yesterday, we opted for the next best thing...the Walking Dunes, one of Montauk's natural wonders.

In a move I can only attribute to cabin fever, we didn't check to see how long the trail, which begins at the end of Neapeague Harbor Road, was before starting out, nor did we, clad in sneakers, anticipate how much snow there would still be on it. Fortunately, as it turns out, the trail is only a mile long, so, somewhat short of frostbite, we completed a loop that began at the harbor, took us through woods, past piping plover sites and a phantom forest, and back to the beach.

You aren't actually allowed to walk on the Walking Dunes - they're too fragile, ecologically speaking - so the trail takes you through woods bordering the dunes and through what once was a forest but has been covered by the dunes in their inexorable stroll southeast. If you're wondering, as I was, why they are so called, it's the strong winter winds that cause the dunes to "walk" about 3 1/2' a year, rather inconsiderately burying everything in their path.

The dunes rise as high as 80' in spots.

You have to take a lot on faith here. Dunes walk. There used to be a forest.

Phantom Menace

Neither snow, nor rain...

What is it they say about the U.S. Postal Service? Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds? Apparently this does not apply to Montauk. Rick just returned from the post office empty-handed. The hamlet's had no mail delivery since Friday.

Maybe they mean snow, rain and gloom of night? In that case, we've just hit the trifecta 'cause we're on rain now.

Never thought I'd say it, but at least the snow was pretty.

This is far from scientific reasoning, but I get the sense that, blizzard or no, things slowly come to a grinding halt out here about now - even the library's given up the ghost and closed for painting - and then, come Valentine's Day, start to percolate again.

In any case, sure could use a good hot cup of coffee about now. 

Finding Nemo

Finding Nemo was not difficult this morning. Dug a path out of the house and made our way to the beach to see the after effects of the storm. That fish was not clowning around. It is beginning to look more like the white cliffs of Dover out here than Montauk.

After last night's white-out....

...our deck this morning

Hard to tell if that's the sun or the polar ice cap out there

My favorite photo, however, is the one a friend sent me this morning under the subject heading: Our backyard after the storm.

They're in Florida.

Lazy, As In Ne'er-Do-Well, Point

"It's called Lazy Point. I've been told the name derives from ne'er-do-well baymen who'd come to squat on worthless land. Whether or not that's true, I don't care; I like the name." 

                                                                                                                              Carl Safina, The View From Lazy Point

Swans on the two-lane road that passes for a "boulevard"  in Lazy Point

I discovered Lazy Point long before I read Safina's book, which is kind of a Walden for the East End. I recommend it. Just don't expect Moby Dick. 

Lazy Point's an idyllic community of summer cottages and beach shacks that has remained somewhat pristine in the face of East End development. If you've ever eaten at the Fish Farm on Cranberry Hole Rd., an actual fish farm, complete with wandering dogs, geese and chickens, you'll know what I mean. From the minute you leave Route 27, cross the railroad tracks and drive past the houses on stilts, through the Neapeague marshes, past osprey nests and egrets...well, to paraphrase Frank Baum: Toto, I don't think we're in the Hamptons anymore.

Over the course of a year spent in Lazy Point and on travels to the four points of the compass, Safina traces the comings and goings of arctic seals, terns, and other migrants. An ecologist and marine conservationist who founded the Blue Ocean Institute, his premise is that "the coast and its migrants bring to Lazy Point a much bigger picture than any map of the place suggests. I sometimes tell friends it's possible to see the whole world in the view from Lazy Point." 

With a H/t to Carl, a few of my favorite views from Lazy Point...

Hicks Island

www.montauk.calm

Calm before the storm... 

Chillin'

Stay tuned.

ATM

Our house is probably the only house in Montauk that overlooks a motel by design.

It sits across the street from the Atlantic Terrace, which my family built and ran for decades. We ate every meal at a breakfast bar that overlooked the ATM, so my father could dash home for lunch, or dinner as the case might be, sit facing the front office, and, if a customer pulled up, run back over to take care of business. This probably accounts for much of the digestive issues he had throughout his life.

I'm sure he thought the view was perfect, and, since the motel's success is the reason I'm sitting here today, within spitting distance of the ocean, far be it from me to complain about it. But I confess I've never thought of the Atlantic Terrace, with its 60's sensibilities, as a thing of beauty. That is, until I awoke just before sunrise today, glanced over at it and was brought up short by the, well, view.

Into the Woods

Not a groundhog, but I want to go on record...

All for an early spring. Especially given the way winter's been of late...

This winter has given new meaning to the phrase white, sandy beach

Despite the freezing temps this weekend, however, our friends Robin and Bob wanted to hike out to see seals. We were game, but told them not to expect anything other than some good exercise. We had yet to see seals at Seal Haulout and the timing was off, given that low tide wasn't until 5:30 p.m. Naturally, it was a veritable Sea World when we arrived. Every variety. Ring, Harbor, Spotted. Just sunning themselves on the rocks.

Ok, I know, National Geographic will not be calling anytime soon.

You can get to Seal Haulout on the beach, but we opted for the woods, figuring they'd provide a little more shelter from the elements.

Into the woods

Where was that last trail marker?

You'll have to take my word for it, but the seals hang out on those rocks in the background.

The deer, including this beautiful buck and his family, were out in full force when we headed back into town at dusk. 

Off to mingle with the herd at a mall UpIsland today.