On My Way: A short walk at James Pond

1 of 5

A short walk at the James Pond Preserve kindled the winter spirits on a recent cold morning.

The morning sky was a light blue overhead, above the guard of trees on either side of the road. The color seemed muted by a translucent freeze in the air from the cold of late. The blue was soft and welcoming.

I wound along the hilly country road past Duarte’s Pond, and later, E.C. Cottle. Shortly after the lumber and building-supply depot, I turned right into the James Pond Preserve parking lot. I pulled into one of the clearly marked parking spaces.

(The James Pond Preserve is a relatively new property of the Martha’s Vineyard Land Bank, and provides access to the popular Lambert’s Cove Beach. According to the website, one must reserve a parking space in advance through the online system during the summer season. This day, the dozen parking spaces sat empty.)

With a look around to familiarize myself, I set out. The trail began in a thicket of bare oaks with some pine and cedar and climbing briars. Leaves in their final stages of decay made a lush carpet on the path. The mostly naked trees reached for the sky. In no more than a minute or two, I was out of the wildlands.

James Pond appeared below me. The pond was surprisingly big. The back half of the pond wore a white coat of snowfall on ice. The pond worked inland from sand dunes of the north shore until it ran into the stubborn banks of a hill. The pond was muffled.

I made my way for the beach. A matting had been laid over the difficult sand. I went up a dune and then came down the switchback of stairs of an aluminum egress. I stepped onto the beach.

The bite of winter greeted me right away. A wind from the north blew over the Vineyard Sound onto the beach. The cold nipped at my ears under the flaps of my hat, and at the tip of my nose. The beach was in the chilly shade of the sand dunes. The sun was not yet high enough to cast its warmth.

I started down the beach. A layer of clouds was low in the sky above the sound. The waves washed one after another onto the shore. The sound is always comforting. The beach was frozen at the water’s edge.

Far ahead of me, a couple walked with their dog.

A walk on the beach in nearly any weather is pleasurable. A walk with a dog on the beach is even more so. Its freedom as it runs in the ocean air along the waves is a portal to a more peaceful world.

I went as far as the northeast end. A meandering inland stream flowed into the sound. Thick, broken ice had formed along the border. The running water had dredged a deep channel with steep sides through the beach. I turned back here.

A small surf rolled in an ever-changing pattern of waves into the shore. The tops broke in a white crest, and they fell upon themselves. The sea grumbled and murmured in its endless task. A group of small birds ran on tiny legs along the sand. Their compact little bodies had white undersides and gray topsides. Downy feathers insulated them from the cold. The birds had no need of a runway other than the air. They jumped into liftoff and spread their wings in flight over the water.

The opening to James Pond on the other end of the beach was a frozen slurry of brown sediment. The sky reflected on the surface. The channel took a long, wide turn into the pond. I turned back. The couple with their dog came from the other direction. We passed and said good morning.

I climbed the aluminum stairs. At the top of the dune, I stopped to look over the winterscape. The hills on the east and southern sides of the pond were filled with a forest of gray and brown. The canopy seemed to mimic the lay of the land. I went back on the matting and then through a grove of trees. A loop trail continued to the parking lot. An overlook led to the edge of the pond.

A clear line demarcated the frozen back white of the pond from the front. I looked over the pond for some time. Something seemed out of place. The stillness gave it away, I think. Finally, I realized. The front of the pond was frozen as well. I was looking at black ice.

I would have liked to have laced on some skates. The surface in my imagination was smooth, hard, and fast. I would skate across and make turns with my blades on the pristine ice. My body would warm up in no time, and welcome the cold chill. The thought was a nice one.

I walked back up the hill in a meadow with a few trees. At the top, a bench was constructed on a viewing platform. It would be a nice place to sit and read Walt Whitman on a much warmer day. The trail led back to the parking lot. A few other cars were now parked. Folks were out for a short walk.