Taking the ocean for granted

First Encounter Beach, August 2015

   I try not to take things for granted. I try to notice the small stuff, and I admit, I think I do a pretty good job. I'm almost as happy photographing frogs as I seeing a moose. I like sunsets and babbling brooks. My mom died when she was forty four and my "healthiest" millionaire cousin that worked in the development of pharmaceuticals died when he was forty seven. So as I approach forty one and a half years on this planet, you can bet your ass I try to appreciate everything.

No matter how many hundreds of deer I've seen, I never tire of seeing them. I have driven by Canon Cliff in Franconia so many times, I can see the curves in my head, yet I am still amazed. It's not just the big stuff. Having the alarm go off when a little carp in the Blackstone Canal takes your bait gets my heart racing. I still love little wild brookies, small waterfalls, and the song of a
chickadee.

Gooseberry Island, Westport, MA

However, without question the one thing I realized I have gotten to take for granted is the beauty of the ocean. Of course when a storm comes and the waves get kicked up to ten feet, it would be impossible not to be in awe. However, for the simple beauty of the surf line, yup, I admit, I usually don't give it much thought.

Here is how the idea for this post came into my head: I fish in Narragansett and the South Shore of Rhode Island a lot. I live an hour away, so it is not every day. However during the fall, and especially if albies are around, I'm down there a few days a week. During the spring, I fish upper Naragansett Bay, because it is a lot closer of a drive. The bay certainly has some pretty spots. Trust me, you feel like you are at the end of the world when standing a half mile from shore at Conimicut  Point.

Island Rocks at Sachuest

Well, almost every time I go to the ocean, there is an out of state plate in the parking areas. I'm not talking about a Connecticut or New York plate. I mean far off places like Nebraska or Wisconsin. I forget how many people live so far from the ocean that is a novelty to them. It blows me away, how many people travel thousands of miles to go on a vacation to Cape Cod. Go to the top of Cadillac Mountain, Acadia National Park in Maine, and I can all but guarantee there are as many cars from a thousand miles away as there are with Maine plates. All of these people want to see the beauty of the ocean crashing the cliffs and islands

For as long as I can remember, when I go surf fishing, if I don't catch anything, I consider it a bad day. It doesn't mean  I go home swearing, but if I get skunked two days in a row, I seriously start questioning whether the gas I'm buying is worth it. I don't drive home thinking " at least the scenery is nice" Honestly, I admit, until this fall, that thought never crossed my mind.

Black Point, Narragansett, an hour before I saw the hawk
in the picture below

This August, for the first time, I went on a mini vacation to the Outer Cape. I was blown away by the beauty. The beaches were miles long. The sunset over  First Encounter Beach was phenomenal. The dunes in the Provincelands were as neat as any mountain I have been on. Still I believe, if I lived in that area, I'd probably get so used to the scenery the only thing that would matter would be whether a striper was bending my rod.

This fall, I did really well catching stripers and blues. I caught more albies in one day than  I had ever caught combined. However, this story is about another day. I went to Narragansett one day while there was a big offshore storm. The waves were huge. They were crashing so high up the rocks I stood so far from the water, my cast could barely get past the first wave. I tried four spots and I was the only guy fishing, maybe in the whole town. From the avenues, one can see for at least half mile in each direction. Move to a couple spots and you can get to the shoreline for a distance of almost five miles. The water was turned up and waves were blowing spray twenty feet into the air. Of course, as I stated above, it would be impossible to not be in awe of the power of the ocean.

I decided to give up fishing for a few minutes. I sat down on a favorite rock on Newton Ave. I looked back toward one of the million dollar homes and not ten feet away a hawk was watching me. I got my camera out to get one picture before it flew off. I sat there stunned wondering what the hell a hawk was doing sitting on a rock next to the ocean. I started looking at the shoreline. I knew I wasn't catching any fish. I looked north, then south towards Bass Rock. I realized how lucky I was to sit there. To others, this was "classic New England rocky shore" or "quintessential New England" all I needed were autumn leaves, a white church, and a lobster. To me, it had been a waste of fifteen dollars worth of gas.

Since that day, I have tried to remember that I am lucky to live so close to the Atlantic Ocean. Even on the days the fish aren't biting, I'm reminding myself to look up and notice my surroundings.

 One day this October, I made the long walk one morning from the East Beach parking lot to Quonny Breachway. I got there around 7 am. However it was so foggy, I could only see fifty feet of grey air in front of me. The water was glass calm. I knew withing fifteen minutes, I had little chance of catching anything. There wasn't any bait in the area, that along with the calm conditions made for some bad fishing. Yet, I kept walking and casting. It was so peaceful, the water was barely lapping the shoreline. As one approaches Quonny from that direction, you come by some huge boulders in the water. The looked like sentinels in the fog guarding the shoreline. I have seen photos of Olympic NP and the Oregon coast. With the fog and a little imagination, I could almost place myself there. Of course, as the sun burned off the fog, I could see houses behind me instead of imaginary redwoods. Still, even on my walk back to my car, I enjoyed the view of those boulders, Fresh Pond Rocks and the old men fishing the beach

The boulders by Quonny after the fog burned off

Maybe that hawk a few weeks back passed a little knowledge off onto me. I'd like to think so at least