The Sankaty Head Lighthouse
My first clue that we had gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd came as we made coffee in the van at 07:00 in the ferry parking lot. Volvos, Mercedes, and Land Rovers arriving in a steady stream disgorged nattily dressed young couples and their fair-haired children in summer frocks and soccer jerseys. The daddies all wore polo shirts, crisp white or salmon-colored shorts, and Docksider boat shoes while the mommies sported light cotton sun-dresses or tennis skirts and sandals.
In my generic black t-shirt and cargo pants (neither fresh from the laundry) I felt that I was bringing down the general ambience of the parking lot considerably.
As ferry time was approaching and we still needed to figure out exactly where the dock was, we gulped the last of our coffee, lifted the bikes from the rack and headed toward the terminal.
The Fast Ferry (one hour to the island) is $66 per person for a day trip out and back. An extra $16 per person allowed us to bring our bikes on the boat and also to board first giving us our pick of seats. We chose to sit outside on the upper deck and soon Hyannis Port was disappearing behind us as we headed toward the island.
I first heard of Nantucket when I read Moby Dick by Herman Melville in my second semester of Freshman English. Moby Dick, written in 1851, was inspired by the sinking of a real ship, the Essex, a whaling vessel that sailed from Nantucket in August of 1819 on what was supposed to be the 21 year-old ship’s final voyage.
It certainly was.
Some 1,600 km west of the Galápagos Islands in the Pacific, the Essex was attacked and sunk by a Sperm Whale. The crew of 21 men were forced to abandon ship dispersing into three small whaling boats.
The nearest inhabited land was the Polynesian Islands but the crew believed those islands were inhabited by cannibals (they weren’t) and opted instead to try for a land mass nearly three times as far away.
It was a mistake that would cost them dearly. In the end, only 10 men survived, some of the deceased having been shot and eaten by their mates thus finding their greatest fears realized in a tragic, ironic twist worthy of the ancient Greek playwrights.
Herman Melville visited Nantucket just once in 1852, a year AFTER the publication of Moby Dick so I did have some inclination that he might not be the most reliable narrator of its charms, especially, more than 125 years later, but I was not prepared for what we would find.
Hint: we did not find a quaint old whaling port.
At 09:30 Barbara and I came rolling off the ferry and into the biggest traffic jam this side of the Mass. Turnpike. The town of Nantucket where the ferries dock, was clogged with Jeeps, Land Rovers, and massive SUVs most of them new, shiny, and astonishingly clean. There were plenty of well-heeled pedestrians clogging the roads as well. The streets were lined with boutiques, gift shops, ice cream parlors, electric bike and scooter rentals, and cafe style eateries all of which had long lines snaking out onto the narrow congested sidewalks.
We took a quick look and headed on our battery-free bikes for the shared path toward the town of Siasconset, on the eastern side of the Island. Parts of the trail passed through some lovely woods and scrub brush but much of it was along side a busy highway where cars and eighteen-wheeled trucks whizzed by.
A few hours later we arrived on the eastern side of the island, which did afford us a fine view of the Sankaty Head Lighthouse, which has been calling out stern alarms and merry meetings since 1850. Standing sentry amongst the wind-swept grass at the edge of the glimmering sea, it is perhaps the most idyllic spot on the whole island.
The town of “S’conset” as it is known, is less so. The weathered cottages are charming enough until you realize that they go for $2.5 million and up for a fixer-upper that could use a few hundred thousand dollars worth of “TLC” just to make it sea worthy. Most are in the $8 million plus range. The median house price on the island is $1.3 million.
In the center is a little market that sells essentials, snacks and a few baked goods. Having had just a hard-boiled egg and coffee for breakfast many hours ago and with many kilometers of biking ahead we splurged on a pre-made tuna wrap and a croissant for $22. The area around the market was crammed with more upscale vehicles, their important looking owners, and their children.
When we got back to the port, we found we still had another two hours before our return ferry back to Cape Cod departed. After scarfing two slices of street pizza ($17.14) and enjoying an ice cold Diet Coke ($3.00), Barbara opted for a bit more bike riding (of course!) while I, more or less pooped decided on a visit to the Nantucket Historical Association’s Museum of Whaling (Adult Admission $25).
There a young man, who presented as more ivy league than hardtack, told a 45 minute story about the aforementioned Essex, which left me just enough time to dash around the museum and quickly take in the displays on whaling, lamp oil, and 19th Century ship construction. The museum shop offered the usual assortment of coffee, mugs, t-shirts, and refrigerator magnets all cheerily embossed with figures of earth’s larges sea mammals. I passed on the opportunity to purchase a souvenir and left as empty handed as the survivors of the Essex arriving home in 1821 though I admit I was tempted by a whale shaped butter dish made of blue glass ($38).
I met up with B and we had just enough time to enjoy two small cups of gourmet ice cream ($26.01) as we waited for the ferry to whisk us back. Reflecting on our day, we decided to scrap our planned journey to Martha’s Vineyard on the morrow since, as far as we could tell, it would offer much of the same. Frankly, I didn’t think we could afford it! Instead we decided to remain on the Cape and bike the lovely, scenic, and quiet Cape Cod Rail Trail (free).
Disembarking the ferry, we cycled back to the van and then drove through more horrible traffic back to the town of Brewster where our campsite and supper awaited. On the dinner menu: spaghetti and tomato sauce prepared on the Coleman camp stove, and salad with vinaigrette dressing. Dinner for two including the stove fuel and a few glasses of wine from a box: $5.75.
Our modest meal included no human nor any other kind of animal flesh, but it was one for which the hungry sailors of the Essex would have, no doubt, been grateful. I certainly was.
The world’s a narrow bridge; fear nothing.