The original plan was to paddle from within the Lagoon to the Edgartown Lighthouse. But some four hours later as we battled a headwind it was clear to me South Beach was the destination.
My brother Douglas and I met at the town beach at 7 am. Two men with two dogs were there readying their skiff. We dragged our kayaks into the water and pushed off into a soupy fog.
The Lagoon was a silky mirror. We took our first strokes and exchanged greetings with a group of three at a mooring. In the fog, as it was, we ventured into the unknown. We could not see what lay ahead and there was an eerie quality in the mist as we paddled side by side.
The sun was about 4 o’clock as we approached the Lagoon Pond Bridge; its white circle struggled behind the thick cover. We rooted for the life-giving star.
We went through the left channel of the bridge and saw a fisherman cast his line. Visibility increased when we made outer Vineyard Haven Harbor. The fog was burning off; one could see to the bluff. Douglas chose a route off the shore and I chose to go outside of the Eastville basin. The seas were no more than a half foot.
We connected as we came towards East Chop. A slight current pulled against us as we made our way around the high bluff. The usually confused choppy waters were calm this morning. In the distance a gaff-rigged sloop with brown-red sails headed into the Sound.
Our folks, Mom and Pops, were on top of the bluff to see us go by. We had prearranged our estimated time of arrival, and they cheered us on and we waved our paddles in return. We had a ways to go yet.
One section betrayed the presence of East Chop’s usual somewhat dangerous currents. The surface showed the pattern of the chop, if not the menace. We pulled through easily and passed the East Chop beach club. The fog now was totally burned off and there was blue in the sky. We passed the harbor and the North Bluff; the empty ferry terminal dock was ahead. The big bumpers of heavy wood planking set against pilings stood ready for the arrival of the big boats. My gaze went into the empty slip. Here, Douglas turned for the shore.
His Saturday morning bike group — from which he is currently sidelined due to injury — was at the Oak Bluffs restrooms for their first break. My son Peter is also a regular. Douglas yelled hello to one of his good friends and I waved my paddle to Peter. It was clear he did not know who I was.
We paddled out by the big boat dock and a light breeze touched over my right shoulder. We passed Pay Beach and came to the Inkwell where the Polar Bears were out for their morning dip, waist deep in the water. They held hands in a circle and they sang a song. I smiled. They were having as much fun as we were.
The sun was near halfway up in the sky behind a light mass of furrowed cloud with some mackerel sky. I could not take my eyes away from the wonder of the cloud cover. Flocks of cormorants stood on the broken rock jetties following the end of the sea wall.
Douglas pulled to the shore and we took a cookie break on a beach near Harthaven. A motor boat nosed past the end of the nearby jetty. We stayed only a few minutes.
We passed Little Bridge with the red square of Island Spirit Kayak in the background. State Beach, on this now beautiful hot wispless early morning, was empty. The water was glassy and calm. Douglas stayed along the shoreline and I stayed off the shore. I went at an easy pace and thought of nothing at all. No other boats were out. The horizon was visible.
Before I knew it we were passing Big Bridge. The far-off shout of a child broke my paddling reverie. The delight sang out over the water and I looked to the shore to see a bright sun shade and a beach umbrella.
I began to go closer to the shore and Douglas came out from the shore. Together, we transited the shallow middle flats. We stayed well off of Eel Pond. Edgartown Lighthouse hove into view and a man stood on the bow of his motorboat and fished for striped bass. I noticed a good amount of eelgrass on the bottom. We made our way for the lighthouse beach. Folks were laying down towels or already lying out in the sun.
We were way ahead of schedule; we made the lighthouse in three hours and had allotted five, so we decided to keep going. We pushed off and came around the turn of the beach.
Suddenly, my kayak was pulled into the channel. For a second, my nerves were on edge. I took a few hard strokes and pulled myself out of the current. We paddled between some large yachts. A grand schooner with beautiful lines swung on her mooring as houses and docks and boats bustled.
Edgartown Harbor may be the jewel of the down-Island town — like Ocean Park of Oak Bluffs and the working waterfront of Vineyard Haven. I was mesmerized by the endless magical quality.
The On-Time ferries filled with cars and people crossed by each other on their short run to and from Chappy. We went between their departing sterns through the middle of the narrow entrance to the inner harbor. Activity seemed everywhere.
Edgartown’s waterfront docks were full. The big red Mad Max catamaran was tied alongside. We entered the gigantic mooring field on the Chappy side. Boats of all kinds, motor and sail and big and small, swung on their moorings. There were Boston Whalers, cabin cruisers, and catboats. I never have seen so many Herreshoff 12s. Two women worked on the sails in one and prepared to weigh anchor.
The harbor kept going and going. Folks buzzed around in dinghies and left the harbor in the channel aside the mooring field. A gigantic inflatable pink flamingo was on the roof of one motor yacht. Big homes lined the shore. There were woods and sandy beaches.
Finally we made our exit into Katama Bay. The large red, white, and blue sail of a catboat disappeared around the turn of the shore. The bay opened into a large dome and we headed for the South Shore.
We encountered a real headwind, our first wind of the day, of about 10 knots. I never have paddled so hard for such a long sequence. I felt my life depended on making the shore. Stop paddling and I would be swept away.
Our kayaks ran aground in ankle deep waters on the Katama side of the South Shore. We had made it. I stepped out careful not to topple. It was 11:15. We were just over four hours on our morning trek. I felt a sense of achievement and pleasure in my tired body. We pulled our kayaks onto the beach.
A low sand dune covered with beach grass obscured the Atlantic just over its other side. We were content where we were. I sat down and called Pops. He had offered to pick us up and we agreed to meet at the Katama boat ramp in an hour.
A fog settled over the bay. We discussed how we would return without visibility. Then in a few minutes a breeze lifted the fog and the dynamics were reassuring.
We paddled towards Left Fork. Two dozen vacationing folks were in the flats clamming; by the look of their baskets their success was varied. It did not matter because they were enjoying a wonderful Island respite.
We explored the very end of the bay and then turned back for the Katama ramp. Pops was waiting at the busy launch site. We loaded the kayaks, tied them down and headed for home.
